














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































* 


















\ou ses, Sir, pointing to tbe potatoes on bis board, 
for be and bis family.were at dinner, "I am eating 
dry potatoes," &c 


See pag-e 131 





































THE 


IEISH TOURIST; 


OR, 

TALES OF THE PEOPLE 


AND THE 

PROVINCES OF IRELAND. 



EMILY TAYLOR, 

• $ 

AUTHOR OP “TALES OF THE SAXONS,” “TALES OF THE ENGLISH,” 



ETC. 



HARVEY AND BARTON, 

GRACECHURCH STREET. 


1843. 


/K 















t 

















CONTENTS 


Preface . . . Page v. 

CONNAUGHT. 

Introductory , . PagexL 

Page 

CHAPTER l.-The Return. 3 

»» 2.—Bog-trotting. 15 

„ 3.—Evening Retrospections . 28 

»> 4.—The Mountain Cabin . 35 

„ 5.—Projects and Disappointments. 49 

,, 6.—A Digression . 68 

„ 7 •—The Journey continued . 78 

i, 8.—Galway. 87 


MUNSTER.—Pages 111—167- 

Traveller’s motives —Bristol—Steamer—Cork—Irish hunters—Bianconi’s cars— 
County of Kerry—Bandon—Glangariff— Kenmare— Killarney—Glenbegh—Ive- 
ragh—Dingle—Tralee—The Shannon—Limerick—Distress of the poor—Abing- 
ton—Glebe—County Clare—Killaloe—Tipperary—Thurles—Holy Cross—Cashel 
—Cahir—Clonmell—Mitchelstown—Lismore—Youghall. 


ULSTER.— Pages 168—216. 

Passage from Port Patrick to Donaghadee—Banchor—Belfast—Historical recol¬ 
lections — Carrick Fergus — Larne — Glenarm — Ballycastle — Mines—Isle of 
Raghery — Carrick-a-Rede— Giant’s Causeway—Coleraine—Londonderry—Dr. 
Hamilton—Party spirit—Buncrana—Letterkenny, adventure there—Journey to 
Dunglo—North Arran Isles—Killybegs—Donegal—House found in a bog at In- 

A 2 













CONTENTS 


ver—Lough Dergh and Patrick’s Purgatory—Pettigo—Enniskillen—Loch Eme 
—Devenish Island—Round Tower—Florence Court—Swanlinba—Cavan—Kil- 
more—Bishop Bedell—County Monaghan—Castle Blayney—Jonesborough—Ros- 
trevor — Dundrum — Morne mountains — Newry— Armagh—Loch Neagh— 
Charlemo nt—C anals—Belfast. 


LEINSTER.—Pages 219—271. 

Bay of Dublin — Kingstown—Sackville Street—College Green—Westmoreland 
Bridge—St. Stephen’s Green—The Mendicity House—The College—Library and 
manuscripts — Archbishop Usher — Museum—Dublin Society House—Four 
Courts—Irish Bar—The Castle—The Phoenix Park—County Wicklow—The 
Scalp — The Dargle—Powerscourt—Enniskerry—Vale of Avoca—Wexford— 
Barony of Forth— 1 Thomastown—Kilkenny—Carlow—Maynooth—Drogheda— 
Battle of the Boyne—Navan—“ Erin go bragh!” 


PREFACE. 


My intention in writing the following pages has 
been to present juvenile readers with as lively and 
graphic a view of Ireland as a diligent study of the 
best tourists, some personal knowledge of the coun¬ 
try, and a memory, early filled with details gathered 
from the lips of those who knew well the land they 
spoke of, would permit me to put before them. I 
know that, by means of many beautiful fictions, 
young people have of late years been familiarized to 
some of the peculiarities of the lower Irish : their le¬ 
gendary lore, in particular, has been offered to them 
•in a very fascinating form by Mr. Crofton Croker. 
But a book of travels in Ireland, comprehending ac¬ 
counts of the local curiosities, the scenery, situation 
of towns, and the general state of the country, they 
have not yet had; and a comparison of what has 
been written by different tourists, with a view to 
supplying the deficiencesofeach, together with such 

a 3 



VI 


PREFACE. 


particulars respecting natural history, antiquities, 
&c. as are only to be gathered from other sources, 
has been accordingly instituted; with how successful 
a result it is not for me to say. 

I have treated of the four great and peculiar di¬ 
visions of Ireland separately, and have conducted 
the traveller through each in turn. With Con¬ 
naught, as being the least known, and perhaps on 
that account the most awakening, I have com¬ 
menced. Connaught has, till lately, had an ill name: 
it is, however, rapidly undergoing that process 
which will alike strip it of its romance and its dan¬ 
gers, of some of its vices, perhaps,—but, perhaps, 
too, some of its virtues. Connaught, well governed, 
its people furnished with means and motives to in¬ 
dustry, and its oppressions taken "away, will not, 
perhaps, be less civilized a few years hence than 
Wales is now. But it is peculiarly hard to prophesy 
about Ireland. Who would believe, but through 
experience, that centuries of social neighbourhood 
should have left our sister-island what she is and has 
been through that long period? “ Beautiful for 
situation, the joy of the whole earth,” the 
greenest, the gayest, the softest, at times the most 


PREFACE. VU 

\ 

majestic of countries;—there she still is, full of sor¬ 
row, starvation, and crime; her widows and orphans 
die of want in the midst of abundance : her strong 
men spend their energies in contests with law and 
government: the ministers of religion fight for a 
maintenance, and point the weapons of worldly war¬ 
fare at their own flocks : pitiable superstitions close 
the minds of the poor against purer doctrines; while 
a general sense of the injustice of a system steels 
their hearts against the kindest of individual coun¬ 
sellors. 

Such is Ireland’s state. Some dawning hope of 
better days is rising upon her, for even the wild Con 
naught man sees that he is in the hands of a govern¬ 
ment kindly disposed towards his country. Her 
condition is looked into, her people will be fed, her 
wastes will be cultivated, her worst grievances re¬ 
dressed. Such anticipations make Ireland once 
more a land of hope and promise. The book need 
not necessarily, we feel, be dismal, which has that 
name stamped on its pages; and it is sent forth into 
the world not to ask for tears and sighs, but to ga¬ 
ther up cheerful smiles and glad welcomes. 





. 


■ 












. 


% 



















1 . 












\ 


CONNAUGHT. 


[Counties—Five.] 


GALWAY. 

MAYO. 


SLIGO. 

LEITRIM. 


ROSCOMMON 






CONNAUGHT, &c. 


INTRODUCTORY. 

As I am about to conduct a traveller through one of the 
four great divisions of Ireland, it is proper to come to an 
understanding with any reader who may not be already 
tolerably well acquainted with the geography of Con¬ 
naught ; and I would at once advise him to study the an¬ 
nexed map, and inform himself respecting its general 
situation and boundaries. He will find the Atlantic bat¬ 
tling with its broken and deeply indented coasts on the 
west, to the north, and to some extent the south also, 
while its eastern boundary is distinctly marked by the 
noble Shannon. If the map be what it ought to be, he 
will observe many peculiarities in this part of Ireland, 
especially as he approaches the west. Bays and creeks 
and nests of islands innumerable present formidable 
barriers to navigation, from the winding nature of the 
channels, and the heavy sea which rolls unbroken from 
the American coast to this point. He will also see ridges 


% 




Xll 


INTRODUCTORY. 


of mountains and numerous chains of inland lakes, and 
if the map can portray bogs, bogs will certainly be there. 
The counties into which Connaught is divided are five in 
number, Galway, Mayo, Sligo, Roscommon, Leitrim; the 
three former are the highlands of Connaught. But there 
are subdivisions even here: at the north-west extremity 
of Galway there is a line of country, a sort of wild border¬ 
land, standing between the mountains and the sea, which 
is called Cunnemara,—literally, bays of the sea. Higher 
up still, and partly stretching into the adjoining county of 
Mayo, is a tract locally called Joyce’s country, which owes 
its appellation to the predominance of a family, or clan, 
bearing that name, the principal individual of this family 
being a substantial proprietor, familiarly called Big Ned 
.Joyce, but more respectfully King Joyce. The Joyces 
are all a large race, and King Joyce is pre-eminent in size; 
but he appears to rule among his kindred more by the 
better qualities of good sense and superior understanding 
than by any of those advantages which in former times 
were derived from superior personal strength. The lakes 
and mountains of Mayo, Sligo, and part of Galway, are 
numerous, but there is a general want of wood. More 
minute particulars, however, of the interior condition of 
this part of Ireland will be, it is hoped, supplied by the 
following pages. 

















































































































CONNAUGHT. 


\ 


CHAPTER I. 

THE RETURN. 

The sun was just spreading his last beams in great glory 
over the Bay of Ardbear, and the fine back-ground of 
mountains, on which the eye rests when it turns inland, 
looked more black than usual by the contrast with the 
flood of light on the waves, when an American ship was 
observed standing in for the shore, and a signal was made 
for a pilot-boat from the nearest town of Clifden. There 
■were some in Clifden who well guessed for whose use that 
boat was summoned. “ Sure, had not his Honour’s young 
son been a stranger long in Cunnemara; and was not it 
high time for him to leave off his roving ways, and settle 
among his own people ,—natural ?” u It was not for them 
to be blaming the youth because he had a taste for the 
foreign air and skies yonder, over the wide water ; but his 
Honour was growing older, and the young lady, every one 
knew, wanted one to help her and cheer him between 
whiles; and it w T ould not be like himself to keep the bless¬ 
ing from his father’s roof any longer.” And many were 
heard to say that u a welcome should young O’Ryan have, 
and a hearty one, let him come soon or late.” 

But there were those at a short distance from Clifden, 
who, though they knew not exactly what might be passing 

b 2 




4 


CONNAUGHT. 


at this moment in that place, had the keenest of all inte¬ 
rests in the subject of discourse. Mr. O’Ryan had lived 
in Cunnemara for the last twenty-eight years ; during five 
of which he had been left a widower, with one son and 
daughter. Arthur O’Ryan, the son, had been absent in 
Mexico during the greater part of this time : he was now 
returning to Ireland, having transacted some very tedious 
matters of business, much to the satisfaction of his em¬ 
ployers : and the father and daughter had been taught to 
look for his appearance for several weeks past. They 
would have preferred his landing at a more distant point; 
for the coast of Cunnemara is rugged, and the winds 
sweep with tremendous force over the Atlantic, driving 
many a hapless vessel right upon the shore. But young 
O’Ryan had found a ship bound for this part of Ireland, 
and he could not resist the temptation of making his way 
at once almost to his father’s door, “ in the next parish,” 
as he said, “ to America.” 

It was gusty, uncertain weather; but the weather is 
always uncertain in Cunnemara. Sometimes torrents Of 
descending rain remind the traveller of what he lias read 
of tropical regions. A dozen times in a day will the vast 
water-spout pour out its deluges upon him, and between 
every shower the rainbow will be stretched from the dis¬ 
tant islands of the sea to the hills of Ennis Turc, or across 
the sides of Mull Rea. Beautiful, broad, and bright are 

those rainbows, beyond the imagination of those who have 

\ 

never beheld such; and perhaps they are hailed with a 
more religious feeling in these regions than amid tamer 
scenery. After such deluges as the Galway resident is 
often called to behold, the pledge of promise seems more 
than commonly welcome. 

Annette O’Ryan had lived long enough in Cunnemara 
to be well accustomed to these changes ; and, for herself, 


THE RETURN. 


5 


she lovecl them. It was not the landscape, more than the 
lights and shades and ever-varying hues which all these 
fluctuations in wind and weather brought to it, that she 
admired; but her enjoyment was not without its draw¬ 
backs. Many a winter night had her sleep been broken 
by the gusts of wind which shook her father’s house to its 
foundation. As the mighty south-west gathered up all 
its fury, the roar of the whters could be distinctly heard 
beating against the rocks of the bay ; and Annette would 
strain her eyes in gazing over the distant waters, as a 
gleam of moonlight sometimes revealed a vessel drifting 
fast on shore. The cry of “ A -wreck! a wreck!” would now 
and then be repeated under the window, on the first glim¬ 
mer of morning light; and all hands would be off and 
employed in collecting the spoils on the beach. It may 
be well imagined that now, when autumn came, and her 
brother’s vessel was daily looked for, every midnight or 
morning gale filled her with anxiety. But Annette did 
her best to hide this from her old father: she could not 
wholly conceal her emotion, when a louder blast than or¬ 
dinary made the panes of glass rattle in the windows of 
their abode even, screened as it was by shrubs, and by 
the neighbouring height; but she bent down her head for 
a moment, played with the fine old greyhound, or touched 
her harp,—any thing to give a turn to her thoughts, and 
enable her soon to look up cheerfully. 

Annette did not go often to the neighbouring town of 
Clifden. It required some effort to stay from the place 
where she was sure of hearing the first news of her 
brother; but she recollected that by giving way she should 
probably bring home a disappointed face too often to her 
father’s fireside. He could come but once;—but once 
could there be joy, and triumph, and gratitude: and before 
that one prize should be drawn, how many might be the 


0 


CONNAUGHT. 


blanks! It was thus that she strove to tend her flowers, as 
if for the mere enjoyment of their own beauty, and not 
because Arthur was coming, and all should look gay for 
him; she looked abroad, and strove to think less of the 
season as in connexion with him. On the evening we 
mention, in particular, she had enjoyed the day, which was 
unusually soft and calm; and had tried to worship God, 
with a heart full of confiding love. Many symptoms had 
of late marked the transition from summer to autumn, 
though the flowers and shrubs were in rich beauty. She 
had been sitting in the garden this evening with her 
father, who had now returned into the house, whither 
Annette was preparing to follow, when the well-known 
faces of two neighbouring peasants appeared at the gate. 
“ Miss Annette, Miss Annette ! sure here’s good news 
entirely. May be his Honour, long life to him ! will 
come out to see.” 

“ What ? to see what ?” exclaimed Annette. 

“ Sure isn’t it the young master himself, coming up as 
fast as the lame leg will let him !” 

Annette did not notice the expression, in the ecstasy 
of her joy at the news. She ran in to her father;—stopped 
however ere her hand was on the handle of the door, and 
gathered calmness before she told her welcome news. 

(( Now thanks be to God !” said her father, “ we will go 
and meet him and he seized his staff with a trembling 

O 

hand, and prepared to go down the hill-side towards the 
inlet on which Clifden stands. His daughter, it may be 
supposed, did not let him go alone. The narrow road 
from their dwelling to the valley took a steep descent, 
although it was conducted in a winding direction round 
many points of rock, and the two peasants who had 
brought the first news were anxious to assist his Honour 
by clearing away every stray stone in the path. 


THE RETURN. 


7 


u But, Blarney,” said Annette, suddenly struck by the 
recollection of his words, “ you said something about your 
young master being lame ; we never heard that.” 

“ And how would you hear it, Miss Annette, my lady, 
when the leg was as complate a leg, may be, as ever you 
seen, till just an hour ago, when it was smashed entirely ? 
Sure, didn’t I see it done with my own eyes !” , 

If Annette had not lived always among the Irish she 
might have been alarmed at Blarney’s tidings; but well 
aware that to be “kilt” and “smashed entirely” meant 
often some petty injury not worth a thought, she ques¬ 
tioned the narrator in a very quiet tone. “ Well, Blarney, 
and how was it done ?” 

“ Faith, my lady, and I’ll tell yees. Sure the American 
tired his gun out yonder, for a boat to bring off the young 
master; and all the fishermen would be striving which 
should be first for his Honour’s Honour. And then there’s 
Jack Rory, that’s not lucky any way, but will always be 
trying, come what will; he would go too : and when they 
got to the ship’s side, twenty of ’em at least, my lady,—let 
alone a bull, no man could roar louder for custom than 
Jack ; and the young master catching his eye, and seeing 
him so hearty, jumped at once into his boat, bad luck to 
him ! —and the portmantel too, and the cloak, and the bits 
o’ things beside, to say nothing of the dark young gentle¬ 
man,-” 

“ Well, Blarney ?” 

“ Well, my lady, and sure if there’s a bit of a rock any¬ 
where in the bay, it’s Jack Rory that will be hitting upon 
it. He knows no more than the babe unborn what he’s 
about; and then his boat is the worst in Clifden. The 
young master soon seed that he was wrong, and I warrant 
wished himself out; but Jack kept pulling on, talking all 
the while in his glory, like one mad. At last crash the 



8 


CONNAUGHT. 


lioat goes on the point of rock by the castle-side,—and 
there they were, quick as thought, all in the water. 1 
wasn’t frightened, Miss Annette ; for I knew that it was 
lie that could swim with the best of ’em :—and so he did, 
bless him:—but when he was fairly out of it, och ! then 
the red blood streamed from the leg that was hurt-” 

“ Hurt ! how ?” 

“ By the rock, bad luck to it! plase your ladyship, when 
the boat struck. So when I sees that he couldn’t walk 
for the pain, I calls Mike Riley, and bids him and Tim 
O’Rourke whip him up between ’em, and bring him hither 
in no time ; but, sure, he would stay behind to look after 
the young dark gentleman that was kilt, and the port- 
mantel, and the bits o’ things. So I hied up hither to tell 
yees all the good news.” 

“ Thank ye kindly, Blarney. But the young gentleman, 
was he hurt, think ye ?” 

“ Only drowned a bit, my lady ;—nothing more. He 
looked pitiful enough when they got him out of the water; 
and the young master stood dripping, like a duck, over 
him.” 

“ Now Blarney, do what I say;—run as fast as ever ye 
can before us to the town, and ask John Spooner to see 
they have dry clothing and ’tendance. Tell them we will 
be there as fast as my father’s strength allows !” 

Blarney darted off as desired. He found the comfort of 
the voyagers had however already been cared for: the 
surgeon of the little town, and several of the inhabitants, 
by whom Mr. O’Ryan’s family were regarded with strong- 
feelings of respect, had surrounded the young man and his 
companion, and insisted upon their changing their wet 
garments before proceeding further. The surgeon also 
had looked at Arthur’s wound, and pronounced it one 
which, with care, would soon be cured; but would not 


THE RETURN. 


9 


allow him, on any account, to walk up to liis father’s house 
that night. “ And here in good time,” said he, “ come, 
they who will enforce my orders,” as Annette and her 
father entered the room, and each in turn threw them¬ 
selves into Arthur’s arms. They looked at each other, 
they smiled and wept, were silent and talkative, all in the 
course of a few moments; and then Arthur presented his 
triend, young Vergos, who had accompanied him from 
Mexico, on his return to Europe. They had often heard 
of the young Spaniard, and Arthur had before mentioned 
his desire to visit Great Britain—above all things, to see 
Ireland, of which land he had heard many tales in his 
childhood, from an Irish priest, who had been his tutor; 
and Arthur had promised to be his guide over part, at least, 
of his native country. All this Arthur rapidly explained, 
after the first burst of pleasure at their meeting was over ; 
and then he laughed and said, “ To be sure we have given 
poor Vergos a very cool reception. I might have remem¬ 
bered that awkward fellow sooner; but I did not till I was 
fairly on board his boat; and then I could not help re¬ 
minding him of his upsetting me once, when a boy, near 
this very place. And what do you think he said ? £ Och ! 

sure, your Honour, and wasn’t ye as safe and sound next 
morning as ever ? Sure its not Rory would be harming 
any one, let alone yer Honour, beyant a trifling wetting.’” 

“And the fellow came so easily and impudently,” added 
Vergos, “ for his reward just now ;—boasting that nobody 
else could have upset a boat so cleverly. These country¬ 
men of yours, O’Ryan, know how to put a good face upon 
the matter, at all events.” 

“ Oh!” observed Arthur’s father, “an Irishman is never 
in the wrong, sir. Whatever he does, however seemingly 
inexcusable in our eyes, he will endeavour to prove was 
done in the best way, or at all events better than any one 


10 


CONNAUGHT. 


could have expected. This is the secret of much of the 
content you will see in the midst of misery,—the Irishman 
is in general well satisfied with himself. But, Arthur, we 
must contrive some way of carrying you up to the lodge.” 

Arthur would have deprecated all trouble about him, and 
protested he could walk, if it were slowly ; but Mr. B. the 
surgeon was peremptory. “ My dear sir,—I must insist,— 
that foot must not be put to the ground for a week: if 
you submit to my discipline for that time, I promise you a 
cure ; but I will not bate one hour of the infliction. We 
medical men, you know, sir,” addressing Yergos, “are 
obliged to be strict disciplinarians and the doctor drew 
himself up to his full height, and looked very pompous. 

Arthur smiled at his sister, well remembering the cha¬ 
racter of the good apothecary, which was that of a man of 
talent and worth, gifted, however, with a good share of 
self-esteem, and affectation of professional dignity. The 
matter was soon settled :—a sort of litter was procured, in 
which the wounded man was deposited, and carried to his 
father’s house by the willing and eager peasants; Annette, 
Mr. O’Ryan, and the Spaniard following on foot. 

The day was now completely closed, and the moon had 
arisen, making the scenery rich in a different style of beau¬ 
ty. There were gusts of wind, and masses of cloud here 
and there driving up from the Atlantic, as if preparing 
for battle with the bright luminary which had arisen from 
behind the majestic hill. The Twelve Pins of Bennabola, 
those singular conical mountains which form the back¬ 
ground of the picture, and, more distant, the Mam-Turk 
range, each caught the light; and their outline was ren¬ 
dered more picturesque by the occasional changes, as the 
moon was sometimes hidden for a moment. The higher 
they mounted, (and Ardbear Lodge stood on high ground, 
though sheltered,) the more striking was the view. They 


THE RETURN. 


11 


were on the southern side of the bay, and traced the 
windings of the deep narrow inlet above which Clifden 
stands, to its source in the Atlantic. The whole coast 
appeared deeply indented, one sharp promontory after an¬ 
other jutting out into the sea. Beyond Clifden, to the 
north, looking over towards Joyce’s country, that beautiful 
part of the country called the Ivilleries was visible. Turn¬ 
ing to the south, the view was more desolate;—brown, 
boggy land, with lakes catching the moonbeams, and be¬ 
hind these the Urrisbeg mountain. This is all Cunnemara, 
—and it is worthy of its name,—“Bays of the Sea.” The 
inland lakes and creeks, and boggy tracts form a singularly 
wild, rugged picture, when seen from an elevation like 
this. Vergos looked with dismay in this direction, and 
was glad to turn his eyes to the nearer prospect. As they 
approached the lodge, all was comfort and civilization: 
the arbutus, the laurel, and bay grew in thick heavy 
masses on the lawn and shrubbery, and sheltered the 
house. They were soon in the hall; and Arthur, placed on 
the sofa, near the bright turf-fire, looked around the well- 
known room, stretching out his hand to the domestics as 
they gathered round tp welcome him. There was honest 
pleasure on the faces of all; but Vergos was most touched 
and interested by what followed. The family party was just 
settling into composure, the lights were brought in, and 
Arthur’s father had taken his seat near the couch on which 
his son was stretched, when a murmur was heard in the 
hall, of several voices raised in sharp contention : above 
them might be distinguished that of a woman, who seemed 
indignantly repelling some attempts which were made to 
restrain her approach to the room occupied by the family. 

“Listen!” said Arthur, with a knowing look. “ Leave it 
to nurse Burrowes; we shall see if she will not win her 
way hither.” And as he spoke, the door was quickly 


CONNAUGHT. 


12 - 

opened, and a tight, matronly little old woman burst in ; 
and without further ceremony, running up to him, threw 
her arms round his neck, kissing his forehead, and exclaim¬ 
ing with passionate fervour, “ My darlint! my jewel; my 
born dimint ! may the blessing of all above be upon ye, 
over and over. Och ! but its I am glad to see ye in yer 
own father’s house again !” 

“Thank ye, good nurse; thank ye kindly,” said Arthur, 
laughing. “ I knew I should not be long without my 
welcome from you.” 

“ Troth, and indeed, jewel, I would have been here 
sooner; but the spalpeens take advantage of me, seeing I 
have not the reg’lar gift of hearing as ivonst: and sure it 
is only by questioning and cross-questioning that I can get 
to know the news at all, at all: and then that smart fellow, 
Will Blake, his Honour’s serving-man, takes on him to say 
ye could not see me. Me, indeed, says I. Marry, Mr. 
William, times are changed indeed, an if the young master 
wouldn’t see me any hour, day or night, an I cornin’ on 
purpose. Please to let him know, Mr. William, says I, 
speaking quite civil, that nurse Burrowes is here. Not to¬ 
night, says he. O, the villain ! says I:—and I to go back 
to my own cabin, and not see the sweet young master. 
Young man, I’ll not be troublin’ you any longer. So I 
oped the door for myself quick ; for I thought it but right 
to spare his Honour getting up to let me in : and so here 
I am, my darlint !” and before the sentence was well 
finished, her arms were round his neck, and another kiss 
was imprinted on his forehead. “And so, cuslilamachree,” 
she continued, “ ye have had a hurt here : sure ye’ll let 
me be the nurse now, and dress it asy, wont ye ?” 

“ Thank ye, nurse ; but really I don’t know what there 

will be for you to do, Mr.-, the surgeon, has dressed it 

already, and nothing is to be moved till he sees it again.” 



THE RETURN. 


13 


“ Oh, but wont ye be wanting whey, and cordials, and 
somebody to move a pillow, may be, at night; and arn’t 
all here young, simple things, that can’t be trusted to 
attend on a sick man.” 

“ I see, nurse,” said Annette, “ you hold my nursing in 
very low esteem.” 

“ Ocli, sure, I forgot yees, Miss Annette, dear ; blessings 
on ye; but ye won’t say ye have the larnin of a nurse, 
tender.” 

u Well,” interposed Mr. O’Ryan, “ I see how it must be. 
We must have nurse Burrowes here for a few days ; and I 
shall only condition that she does not let her tongue run 
on at too great a rate, which might keep th<ypatient back. 
And I hope too, nurse,” he continued, “you will be patient 
with the servants, and not order them about quite so much 
as you sometimes do. I should not like it myself, if I 
were in their place.” 

“ Indeed, an if yer Honour were in their place, it’s not 
nurse Burrowes that would be saying the thing ye might 
not like to hear; but the sarvants are another guess sort, 
entirely. But I’ll not forget yer Honour’s advice.” 

“ Well, Burrowes, you shall go to the housekeeper now, 
and get your tea; and then you can see that Arthur’s room 
is made comfortable for him : and if you like it, you can 
have a shakedown for yourself, in the anti-room, and be 
ready if he wants any thing, to give it him. I think, in¬ 
deed, it would be well to let him have a little good nursing 
at first.” 

“ To be sure it would,” said the old woman, drawing up; 
“ don’t I know that, and didn’t I come here on purpose ? 
Thank ye kindly, Miss Annette, dear : see, I put on my 
clean cap and apron, all ready !” 

Annette smiled, and bade her go for the present; assur¬ 
ing her she should be the nurse, so long as she would 


14 


CONNAUGHT. 


but submit to the doctor’s orders, and the wishes of her 
patient. 

“ There she goes,” said Arthur, “ a good specimen of 
her class,—as affectionate, faithful, and conceited as any 
of them ; but cleaner, cleverer, and more judicious, I will 
say, than most; I am glad she came, and that Yergos saw 
her entree.” 

“ But does she really order your servants, as you say, 
sir ?” asked the young man of Mr. O’Ryan. 

“ Oh, yes; she is the most imperious person. She thinks 
her connexion with our family, as the nurse of my chil¬ 
dren, justifies her being on the side of the quality on every 
occasion, and never misses an opportunity of showing her 
consequence. They do not like her, of course ; but yet I 
do not think one of them would be saucy to her. She has 
so much good sense and truth about her, that they cannot 
help respecting her.” 

“ And I find,” added Annette, “ that the female serv¬ 
ants, if they are worth any thing, consult her with great 
deference in their difficulties. It is a sort of test with me 
of the worth of an attendant: if they are upright and 
faithful, they will soon learn to bear with nurse Bur- 
rowes.” 

The rest of the evening was passed in quietly recount¬ 
ing the history of Arthur’s voyage, and in hearing Cunne- 
marra news in return. They separated, however, at an 
early hour : nurse Burrowes appearing, to announce that 
her young master’s room was ready, and that it was to be 
the “ state chamber, that the lame leg might have less way 
to journey.” “But indeed,” she added, in a tone of apology 
to Yergos, “ every room in his Honour’s house is as iligant 
as a state chamber; and only that the blue chamber hasn’t 
the new carpet, and the best chist, it is as proper a room 
and as beautiful a bed as ever jintleman slept in.” 


BOG-TROTTING. 


15 


Vergos thanked her, laughingly, and expressed perfect 
confidence in the goodness of his accomodation. Nor had 
she promised false : his apartment was pleasant and airy, 
and after the miserable lodgements on ship-hoard, seemed 
even luxurious. He soon slept soundly, and even in his 
dreams had a sense of self-congratulation on his arri¬ 
val in a land he had long desired to see, and among a peo¬ 
ple in whose history and fortunes he felt the strongest 
interest. 


CHAPTER II. 

BOG-TROTTING. 

“ Indeed, Mrs. Burrowes, you are quite in an error,” said 
poor Yergos, a day or two after the evening whose history 
was related in the last chapter : “ I was not laughing at the 
brogue, or putting fancies into the master’s head, I can 
assure you ; I was only asking him to translate the word 
you said just now.” 

“ Translate, indeed ! as much as to say you Irishwoman 
can’t speak Christian English, and must have it expounded 
to ye, like Latin.” 

u Nay, but nurse,” interposed Arthur, u if all were so 
touchy and suspicious as you are, pray how should this 
gentleman ever know the Irish ? Let me tell you, Yergos 
is of your own religion, a Catholic. He had an Irish priest 



16 


CONNAUGHT. 


for liis tutor ; and lie came over here on purpose to see 
your country.” 

“ Ocli sure, did he ! and that alters the matter entirely. 
A Catholic,—bless him :—one may see it in the eye !” 

u Yes, I assure you, it is true: so now you may speak out 
all you think to him, and not put on that odd dull look, as 
if you did not hear, when the priest is mentioned.” 

Nurse Burrowes looked up, and a very comic expression 
for a moment appeared at the corners of her mouth ; 
but she corrected it the next instant, saying demurely, 
“ Sure his reverence is a holy man, and ’tis our duty to 
spake handsomely for him !” 

“ Indeed if it be Father Nolan, nurse, you may very well 
do so ; I have a great respect for Father Nolan myself. I 
believe he is a good man, and a good friend to the poor.” 

“ Troth, darlint ! and so he is;—was, I mane,—for sure 
Father Nolan is gone to his rest;—and Father Dennis is 
another man quite. It isn’t,” she added, in a low and con¬ 
fidential tone, “ that I am for speaking against any of them, 
’specially the servants being some of ’em Protestants, let 
alone his Honour and yourself, Master Arthur; but one 
priest isn’t always like the other. Father Nolan never 
took the bit out of the widdee’s mouth; but Father Dennis 
says the widdees are the best rint. ’Tisn’t long ago, (but 
darlint ye’ll not breathe it,) that I carried him a tinpenny, 
when I hadn’t a bit, not so much as a ’tatoe in it; and I 
said, Father Dennis, says I, sure times are hard, and no 
help for poor craturs like me; and here’s all I’ve got in 
this blessed world,—so I held up the tinpenny.” 

“ And would he take it ?” asked Vergos. 

“ Aye, indeed, that did he ! he never waited till I’d 
finished, but beckons me to hand it him; and because I 
was slow, he chucks me under the elbow ;—then down it 
drops, and he picks it up and puts it quick in the pouch. 


BOG-TROTTING. 


17 


But sure it’s the same blessed religion entirely, whoever 
be the priest: and as to people making norations about it, 
never heed them, jewel. Don’t I know that He above is 
greater than all, and that none of us pay our dues there : 
and who make? us stupid creatures know Him, I say agin, 
barring the priest ?” And here nurse settled down into 
that look of quiet dulness which generally came over her 
when any thing was said of her religion which she did not 
choose to hear. 

Arthur and his friend exchanged significant looks, but 
chose to say no more before her. 

As quick as thought she changed the theme.—“ May be 
it’s myself would like to give the foreign gentleman a taste 
of the buttermilk,” said she, looking towards the window. 
“ Sure the Joyces at the farm yonder has got some beauti¬ 
ful !” 

“ I should like to go myself to the farm for it, nurse;— 
will you go with me ?” 

“ Is it I!—what, and leave the young master on the sick 
couch ?—No, no ; how do I know but some one will be 
doing mischief!” 

“ Nonsense, nurse : I don’t want you at all. But, how¬ 
ever, I believe Yergos will do best by himself now. He 
had better make his own acquaintances, which he cannot 
do so thoroughly, unless alone.” 

“ I do not like to leave you a prisoner here,” said his 
friend ; “ else I own myself w r ell disposed for a long walk 
among your hills.” 

“ By all means. You cannot amuse me more than by 
going out, and bringing home some account of your ad¬ 
ventures. Only take my advice:—you are not an ex¬ 
perienced bog-trotter, Vergos, and may be perplexed be¬ 
fore you are aware of it. Ask any peasant you may meet 
to go with you, and guide you.” 

c 


18 


COXN AUGHT. 


“ And tliere isn’t a man in Galway,” exclaimed tlie 
nurse, “who wouldn’t be proud to do the kind thing by 
the stranger ! To be sure they can’t all speak English ; 
but they’ll all be civil, notwithstanding, to him that’s civil 
himself.” 

Thus informed, Yergos prepared for an expedition. He 
met Miss O’Ryan in the hall, who farther advised him to 
take shelter in the first cabin, if the rain, which she antici¬ 
pated, should come on, for it would be no light shower. 
He bent his steps first towards what Mrs. Burrowes had 
dignified with the name of the farm-house. To Vergos’s 
astonishment the owner, Mr. Joyce, came out to meet him 
with tattered garments, looking the picture of beggary; 
and his wife was without shoes or stockings. At first, 
doubting whether he could be right, he enquired whether 
a drink of the buttermilk, for which he heard they were 
famous, could be afforded him; but was instantly reassured 
by the hearty assent given. Half-a-dozen cocks and hens 
were eagerly driven out of the room, which appeared to 
serve as kitchen and parlour : but it was refreshing to see 
that beyond it, towards the north, was a small clean-look¬ 
ing little room, where stood the milk-pails, very creditably 
neat. Still the discomfort of the principal apartment as¬ 
tonished Yergos :—the dirty, dark floor, the entire absence 
of polish in a single utensil, or article of furniture, the 
smoke-begrimed walls, and the unwashed appearance of 
the children. To be sure, he had been accustomed to such 
things in Spain ; but he had since seen England, and had 
no expectation of finding so much to remind him of home 
in his British Majesty’s dominions. The buttermilk was 
brought, and, after the fashion of the country, was sour; 
but Yergos had no objection to this: it was rich, clean, and 
wholesome, and he drank heartily. 

Mr. Joyce meanwhile seemed well disposed to enter in- 


BOG-TROTTING. 


19 


to conversation with his guest, and volunteered an account 
of his worldly condition, which Yergos was very willing 
to receive ; though he did so with caution, thinking it not 
likely that a man of business, and a shrewd man, as this 
seemed to be, would tell the whole truth respecting his 
pecuniary affairs to a stranger. The appearance of Mr. 
Joyce was not particularly pleasant : he was tall and 
portly,—a real Joyce,—as Yergos afterwards found, when 
he learnt by comparison and enquiry to estimate the bodily 
powers of the gigantic race, which has given its name to 
the district adjoining Cunnemara. He had likewise all 
the ease and self-consequence of his family; seemed good- 
natured and hospitable in the highest degree, but also 
tenacious and authoritative. Had he been better dressed 
and placed in different circumstances he would have been 
a fine sample of full manhood ; but there was a cunning 
couched under an appearance of frankness which Vergos 
did not like. "When he better knew the Irish of this and 
a lower station, he accounted for and excused this, as one 
of the national faults which has grown with the growth of 
an oppressed, degraded, but clever race of beings. Mr. 
Joyce, however, was not servile : he was, by his own ac¬ 
count, an independent man, as far as one in that station 
can be independent in Ireland. He told Yergos he had 
eleven cows, plenty of pigs and fowls, and a herd of cattle 
on the mountains;—that his landlord lived in Galway, and 
he paid him what he considered a high rent, about £3.7s. 
it did not appear so to Yergos ; and he listened in silence, 
and with some surprise, to the details of difficulties with 
which Mr. Joyce plied him, winding up, however, with 
the assurance that so long as he had potatoes and salt for 
his family, he should stay among the Joyces, who were all 
cliver boys, and could make a thriving bargain, if any could. 
There was so little that was inviting in the farm-house 


20 


CONNAUGHT. 


that Vergos soon took his leave, attracted by the beautiful 
aspect of the hills, which now, covered with heath, as rich 
and bright in colouring as that he had often admired in 
Valencia, presented a most inviting appearance to the eye. 
Shaking hands, then, with the Joyce, he turned into a 
beaten path which appeared to lead across one of these 
flowery hills, and soon found himself breathing in full per¬ 
fection the full breezes from the sea, and in a position to 
take a more correct view of the country than he had been 
able to obtain the night before. 

Vergos was a practised pedestrian; and we need not tell 
such of cur readers as have ever traversed a new and 
romantic country, how much one’s strength is stimulated 
by curiosity, and how little the lapse of time or the 
shifting clouds are observed on such expeditions. Our 
Spaniard mounted a breezy hill; then, seeing the deep 
gorges between the neighbouring mountains, was tempted 
to explore, first one, then another, generally finding them 
occupied by lakes of greater or less magnitude, encircling 
wooded islands ; their clothing being chiefly yew. Ex¬ 
cepting on these islands, he was disappointed in find¬ 
ing no wood : the country towards the south-eastern side 
of Cunnemara appeared to be entirely without trees : no 
spreading oaks, no beeches, no towering masses of dark 
foliage broke the prospect, where it was not confined 
by a mountain, or projecting rock. The scenery of the 
defiles was however, very picturesque, and the black 
islands on the bosom of the lakes contrasted in a sin¬ 
gular manner with the bright heath-covered sides of 
the mountains by which the lakes themselves were en¬ 
closed. 

"V eigos looked tor plants to add to his Herbarium, and 
found that Cunnemara would enrich him with many floral 
treasures. There he found the bog-bean, the yellow as- 


BOG-TROTTING. 


21 


phodel, the pale bog-violet, the drosera (fly-trap) gentiana, 
the rarer heaths, the pink-streaked water-pimpernel, be¬ 
sides many delicate and rare ferns. Eager to collect 
specimens, he sprang from one knot of green rushes to 
another, till far advanced in an extensive tract of bog- 
land ; and now, looking round, found that he must retrace 
his steps, or venture to cross what appeared more perilous 
ground than any he had yet passed. He decided on the 
latter, having confidence in his own skill of eye and limb ; 
but soon found reason to distrust both, and, after various 
slips and narrow escapes from more dangerous falls, at 
length was obliged to come to a halt on a little knoll half 
covered with bog-myrtle and willow-herb, but presenting 
around it nothing to Yergos’s view, save a labyrinth of 
small, standing pools, divided only by green tufts, which 
shook in the breeze, and evidently were not of sufficient 
stability to bear the tread of even the lightest animal. 

Meanwhile the wind had arisen, and blew first from one 
point, then another, till it settled in the formidable north¬ 
west ; and then the clouds drove up, and big splashing 
drops began to fall : and here was poor Vergos in the 
most unfavourable of all possible positions for receiving a 
pelting shower. He looked round,—not in alarm, but as 
one provoked and angry with his own stupidity, in having, 
placed himself in so uncomfortable and ridiculous a posi¬ 
tion, especially after the warnings he had received. How 
far he might be from the lodge he did not know,—per¬ 
haps three or four miles;—but the half-mile of bog was 
the real obstacle ; if he could but cross that , all the re¬ 
maining part of the walk would be as nothing. 

Most happily for him, not many minutes had elapsed, 
while revolving in his mind the disagreeable prospect be¬ 
fore him, when the sound of a female voice, singing one of 
the wild airs of the country, was borne by the wind to- 


22 


CONNAUGHT. 


wards him, and lie saiv, emerging from a hollow between 
two rising grounds, on the side nearest that part of the 
bog where he was, a woman and two children tripping 
along, laden with baskets. Vergos shouted loudly : the 
poor people started, and seemed inclined to run away ; but 
presently one of the children, pulling its mother’s cloak, 
moved towards the quarter from whence the voice came. 
Ilis difficulty was seen in a moment;—and it was seen too 
that the will to remove it, in those he addressed at least, 
was not wanting. The children pointed, and called to him 
in Irish ; but the mother put them aside, saying, “Whisht, 
whisht !” then setting down her basket, and throwing off 
her long cloak, lest it should encumber her by the way, 
she made signs to Vergos to remain quietly where he was, 
and proceeded carefully to reconnoitre the ground with a 
long 1 staff. Her slow and cautious selection made him 
more fully aware of the danger he might have incurred. 
Again and again she examined and shook her head ; tried 
a new point, and shook her head again ; while her chil¬ 
dren, left on the brink, evidently alarmed at her peril, 
every now and then set up a shrilly wail, which sounded , 
almost like a death-song. Vergos bitterly reproached him¬ 
self for having brought a fellow-creature, a female and a 
mother, into manifest danger. He called to entreat her to 
come no further, unless she were sure of her ground ; but 
she took no heed, except by motioning him to stay where 
lie was ; till, arrived within a very short distance of him, 
she made a dead halt, looking first at him, and then at the 
intervening ground, which she explored in various places 
with her long staff. Happily the rain had ceased; but the 
strength of the wind increased the difficulty of a passage 
where steadiness was so requisite. 

At length the adventurous Irishwoman looked up ; but 
it was not with the look of confidence or satisfaction. 


BOG-TROTTING. 


23 


“ Sure, I doubt an it be to be done ? Is your honour a 
light stepper ?” 

“ Pretty well, my good woman, I believe. Are those 
holes yonder very deep ?” 

“Is it deep!” and she held up her hand in surprise. 
“A stranger ye will indeed be then!” She plunged her 
long staff into one of them, up to the head, and then, 
drawing it out rapidly, signified that once, twice, thrice, 
nay four times its height might be measured before a 
bottom could be found. “Ye may be a good warrant for 
walking, but sure an ill hand at a bog.” 

A violent gust of wind came at this moment, and ap¬ 
peared to shake the ground on which she was standing; 
but she was firm. 

“ For God’s sake, my good woman,” said Yergos, 
“ don’t stay here, if you are in danger ! Go back to your 
children, and leave me to my fate : or, stay,—go as fast as 
you can to Mr. O’Ryan’s, at the lodge, and send help to 
me !” 

“ Saints above ! not all the O’Ryans in the world could 
do more nor Honour Joyce to draw ye out o’ a bog. See, 
now !” and she put her finger to her lips in the attitude 
of consideration ; “ it isn’t right to tempt ye to try this 
way ; we’d both be lost, may be ;—but take this,” handing 
to him her staff. “ Try that bit,” pointing to a knoll; 
“may be it will bear ye !” 

Yergos did as she desired; the knoll felt and sounded 
firm, and the woman was satisfied. 

“Asy now, and tread like a fairy, if ye can,” said she, 
as he sprang upon it. He was going hastily to try another 
leap, but she stopped him ;—and well it was, for the staff 
ran through the superficial coat of soil, and sank far in¬ 
to the water below. She looked around,—“Try that!” 
pointing to another spot, which Yergos thought much more 


24 


CONNAUGHT. 


doubtful :—he looked up surprised. “Try that!” she re¬ 
peated, in rather an angry tone. He obeyed, and found 
it firm; yet still it looked suspicious. “ Sure ye’re no 
Roman !” said she, “ or ye’d believe now, if ever !” 

“ I am a Roman, good woman, as it happens; and I’ll do 
your bidding !” and he leaped lightly on the spot of solid 
ground. 

“ Asy, now, asy! Och ! I see ye have the regular gift of 
it! And didn’t my heart warm to ye the first moment ever 
I seed ye; and didn’t I see it was a Roman, though I 
spake quick, may be, just now ! God bless ye !” 

“Thank ye ! and now what must I do ?” 

“ It is not myself can tell ye, just in a moment. See 
here; ye must wait a bit, while I go back: the ground 
won’t be proud of bearing us both, sure !” and as she 
spoke she retraced several of her own steps : but Yergos 
observed that she avoided these, wherever practicable ; 
seeming to choose new ground, as far as possible. He 
waited till she again spoke. Much time had been spent, 
and the day was closing in rapidly. The woman observed 
this with an anxious eye, “ If his light were but higher,” 
said she, pointing to the declining lumniary. “ ’Tis ill 
treading pitfalls in darkness ! yet for all that we may 
get ye out yet!” 

Vergos had learned that his best policy was to submit to 
her guidance, and he therefore obeyed her implicitly, step¬ 
ping only where she told him, and making many an evolu¬ 
tion to avoid the dangerous places. His gratitude to his 
guide when he found himself on firm ground was great, 
and he was not ashamed to express it strongly. 

“Ye’re kindly welcome!” said she: “ indeed, an’it 
would have been a shame and reproach to Cunnemara to 
have had a stranger perish without help! Put up the white 
money,” added she, pushing back the money he had prof- 


BOG-TROTTING. 


25 


fered, though by no means certain of its acceptance: “ sure 
’twas only an act of mercy, and is not He above always 
merciful!” 

“ Well, my good woman, I will not press you to take it 
then ; but you must show me where you live, and I must 
come and see you, one day, in your own house.” 

“ Sorrow more nor a poor dirty cabin it is then, that the 
widow bides in ! but ye shall be welcome. And now, 
honey, ye be going to O’Ryan’s: I’ll just walk the bit 
way before, and put ye straight as an arrow.” And on 
she trudged, (resuming her cloak,) striding along with a 
step and at a rate which made it difficult for Yergos to 
keep up with her. The children spoke to her occasionally, 
in Irish; but Yergos distinguished the word Joyce, and 
he repeated it enquiringly. 

“Joyce, to be sure !” said his guide, “am not I a Joyce, 
and the childer, and half the people! and arn’t we all 
proud of our birth and race ! O, the Joyces are a mighty 
great people !—the Cunnemarra boys know that to their 
cost!” 

“And may I ask, Mrs. Joyce,” said Vergos, “where 
you and your children have been this afternoon, and what 
you are carrying in those baskets ?” 

“ Troth, you may, darlint, seeing you ax it civilly and 
like a gentleman :—they’re scollopsand, opening her 
basket, she showed it full of the shell-fish of that name. 

“ And you are going to eat these, are you ?” 

“ Indeed and we are not, ma vourneen ! sure ’tis to keep 
the agent in good temper till the rint is made up clean !” 

“ Oh ! I undersand. And the agent, is he hard upon 
you ?” 

“ Och ! the nigger, true for you ! — sure he’ll take 
that same he can get, and not one tinpenny less;—and 
threatened the cow, poor cratur, last tiilie he came ! but 


2G 


CONNAUGHT. 


she shan’t lave Honour Joyce’s door while a man of her 
kin can wield a sliillelah, I can tell him !” 

u What then, do you take the law into your own hands 
in this part of the world ?” 

u Is it the Joyce’s shall let a dirty English agent drive 
away the widdee’s cow ? No, no ! there’s neither law nor 
justice in bowing one’s back to the yoke, that way : kinder 
to the agent too ; for sure if the boys let him be meddling 
and making with such things, wouldn’t he soon be found 
dead as a stone by his own door ? but I pay him honest as 
far as woman can, and nobody does more.” 
u But why does he charge so high ?” 

“ Many do the like ; and all the world knows it is not to 
be thought of paying such rents; but they get all they 
can. Yet I’ll not say we are so sorely dealt with as some I 
hear of in Ireland, ’specially where the landlord lives 
among us. If God send the good year for potatoes we 
manage to spin round and round agen. But if a bad sea¬ 
son comes, ocli! but its a hard time in Cunnemara.—I’ll 
go on yet a step farther to the cairn, and then bid good 
night to yer Honour.—Last summer was that time, for 
one. Och ! to hear the cliilder and poor people crying out 
for food, and to see how the shore was covered with ’em, 
picking the shell-fish off the rocks; and then, when the 
gentry in England sent the meal, long life to ’em, to see 
the crowding and sthriving to get it!” 
u You think it was fairly given ?” 

“ I’ll not say that;—not that they who gave it meant 
ill,—but all have their likings; and some said this body 
was not to be trusted, and another said that was not 
to be trusted, and so between ’em they missed the people 
likest to know the country, and some got meal who to my 
knowledge wanted for nothing, and some had none who 
were starving. The O’Ryan too was over the seas, out of 


BOG-TROTTING. 


27 


it entirely, or lie would have done it better; when he 
came back, bless him ! he was entirely mad to hear of it, 
and never rested till government sent us more.—In good 
time here’s the cairn; and there’s the lodge, and the 
lights gleaming, and yet not dark either. Good evening 
to yer Honour. And ma vourneen she added in an affec¬ 
tionate tone, “if ye’ll take a poor widdee’s advice, ye’ll 
notbe stepping into the bogs till ye know more about ’em; 
—may be Honour Joyce may not be near another time 
to help ye out.” 

“ Indeed, Mrs. Joyce, I think I shall take your advice, 
and am much obliged to you. I shall visit your cottage 
ere long, depend upon it.” 

“ Long life to ye !—and proud I will be to see yees ! 
—O’Ryan will show you the way any time.” 

Vergos was fatigued by his expedition ; but little would 
he have minded this fatigue if it had not been for the fear 
of having excited anxiety in the abode of his friends. He 
had heard at a distance many horrible tales of Irish deeds 
of violence, and dreaded the alarm his long absence might 
have occasioned. But from this he was soon relieved. 
Mr. O’Ryan, indeed, reproached himself for not having 
more strongly recommended him to take a guide on his 
first expedition, in so perplexing a district; but from ap¬ 
prehensions of the sort to which his guest alluded, he 
declared himself entirely free. “ There is not a country,” 
said he, “ on the face of the earth more free from outrages 
on the quiet traveller than this. Here, if anywhere in the 
world, I will venture to say, the stranger is safe. But, 
come, my young friend, it is no time to talk of these 
things now. Make your toilette with all expedition, and 
we will hear your adventures and discuss them when a 
good dinner has refreshed you. For the present, adieu to 
the subject.” 


28 


CHAPTER ITT. 

V 

# 

EVENING RETROSPECTIONS. 

“ See the power of association !” exclaimed Vergos, as he 
reclined at ease on one of the sofas, by the blazing turf-fire, 
in the evening, at Ardbear Lodge, “ See the power of as¬ 
sociation ! You have been laughing at my perils in your 
bogs ;—now change the accompaniments : let me see ;— 
scene , the glaciers of Switzerland ; instrument , a Switzer’s 
pole ; guide , a romantic-looking mountaineer ; dangers , 
yawning fissures in the ice, occasional avalanches,—in¬ 
stead of gusts from the Atlantic. All this sounds grand ; 
and had I been able to place my romance in such a scene, 
you would all have looked grave and awe-struck. It would 
be difficult to prove my danger greater in one case than 
the other. Why is it so very ridiculous to be in peril of 
sinking a fathom deep in a bog, and so heroic to put one¬ 
self in danger of an untimely death, in crossing the Mer de 
Glace ? But,”' continued he, “ I have not nearly done 
with your bogs; what I observed to-day has greatly ex¬ 
cited my curiosity.” 

u Ali!” observed Mr. O’Ryan, “they are interesting in 
every point of view : in these same bogs are preserved the 
records of a former race :—we have here trees and animals 
of antediluvian origin ;—we have found Roman ships en¬ 
tombed in them;—we have also valuable fuel; and, when¬ 
ever capital is directed this way, it will be found, on a 
large scale, as already it has on a smaller, that there is not 
a finer soil for the growth of crops of corn of every species, 
when the proper materials are employed to correct and 


EVENING RETROSPECTION. 


29 


improve it. Of this, however, we will speak by and by. 
The growth of bog in itself is a very curious speculation 
to the naturalist: an ingenious gentleman, my neighbour, 
has a theory on the subject. You may see that in cutting 
the turf, (which is sometimes ten or twelve feet thick,) 
what are called bog-holes are often made. The large 
trunks of oak, called hog-oak, much used for furniture, 
and also for roofing houses, &c., are found under the 
turf, and where these are taken away of course a deeper 
chasm will be made than when there are no such bodies 
intervening between that and the subsoil. Well, sir, a 
little portion of bog-stuff will be generally left ; and, 
on the top of this, water accumulates so as to form 
those pools you saw to-day : now, in the course of time, 
these will all be choked by the growth of the peat, but 
it will be long before they acquire the firmness apd 
consistency of the bog around ; and many a sportsman 
or poor four-footed animal slips into them while they 
are in their soft state, when, as you may suppose, they 
are more dangerous than at any other time. This brings 
me to my good neighbour’s theory ;—he says he has 
made great observations on these chasms, in their dif¬ 
ferent stages ; he finds that if the water be shallow 
there are a multitude of small worms constantly at work 
in the early stage, throwing up little cylindrical cells, 
reaching to its surface. These cells are composed of bog- 
stuff, and are from one to three or four inches in height, 
and thick in proportion, the largest being about the size of 
a quill. The smaller tubes stand separate; the larger are 
united, and form bundles of aggregated tubes. The little 
animal within is jointed like a conserva, is transparent 
and of a beautiful red colour. When the water from the 
pools is evaporated, the worms retreat low into their cells. 
My friend compares the labours of these animals to those 


30 


CONNAUGHT. 


of the corallines; and fancies he has found at least one 
great agent in the growth of bog : at the same time he 
allows that there is a necessity for the existence of this 
peculiar vegetable earth, as they have never been found at 
work on any other basis.” 

“ It is, at all events, curious,” said Yergos, “ and not at 
all improbable, that the animals in question may be ac¬ 
cessary to the work. And pray how large a surface of 
Irish ground is it believed these bogs occupy ?” 

“ Certainly more than two millions of acres.* The peat 
itself often extends, as I have said, to the depth of from 
twenty to fifty feet; and though it is in itself perfectly 
sterile, yet by various processes it may be brought into 
a state of high fertility at an expense of about £7 per 
acre. The ashes of the peat itself, mixed with lime, have 
been found a very fine manure for this sort of soil; and it 
is very remarkable how near at hand are the remedies for 
all this waste of barren surface. Most of the bogs are 
crossed by large ridges of limestone, the requisite material 
for the manure. Others are near the sea, and sea-sand is 
also found serviceable. Then our bogs, as you see, my 
dear sir, lie rather high, and can readily be drained.” 

“I had always thought,” said Yergos, “that bog-land 
must necessarily be an unwholesome neighbourhood ; but 
it does not appear, from all I have heard latterly, that this 
is the case. ” 

“ Oh, by no means !” observed Annette, laughingly: 
“ a bog unwholesome, indeed ! What would nurse Bur- 
rowes say ? She that has lived on the borders of one 
all her days, and has brought up all her children in a 


* See a letter to the Rev. T. R. Malthus on the Cultivation of Peat-bogs in Ire¬ 
land, published in the Pamphleteer, vol. ix. The Parliamentary Reports, it is 
there observed, do not take into account any bogs of less extent than five-hundred 
acres, of which last description there is an immense amount. Mr. Nimmo reckons 
the total extent of waste land in Ireland at not less than five millions of acres. 


EVENING RETROSPECTION. 


31 


cabin full of turf-smoke, and smacks her lips at the taste 
of potsheen!” 

“ I am persuaded there is, in the minds of many persons, 
a confused notion, that hog land and marsh land are the 
same,” said Mr. O’Ryan. “Arthur’s surgeon will tell 
you that the air is highly salubrious in the neighbourhood 
of the former, owing to the extraordinary antiseptic power 
of the peat. You have observed one or two reclaimed 
pieces of bog-land in our neighbourhood, and I need not 
ask you if they do not appear very productive;—one on 
my own estate I drained, and dressed with calcareous 
sand, and in four months after the spade was put into it, 
had as good potatoes, turnips, and rape growing there as 
ever I saw. I now let that land for twenty shillings an 
acre ; and it will, in a few years, produce a rent of thirty 
shillings, without any oppression to the tennant. I hope 
the day is not far distant when all these wastes will be re¬ 
claimed.” 

“ And I trust, too, you will do what you can to cover 
your barren hills with trees,” said Yergos. 

“ Ah ! you have touched a tender place.—Our trees, who 
shall restore them ! Tradition says, that these mountains 
were once clothed with oaks and pines, but the English 
burnt our forests, as they destroyed those in Wales, be¬ 
cause they furnished shelter for the rebels, as the Irish 
were called ;—and now, with a country exposed like ours 
to the full force of cold gales from the Atlantic, it is ex¬ 
tremely difficult to rear fine trees, excepting in hollows 
and sheltered places. Yet I do not despair: if we can 
partially succeed, we shall pave the way for others to fol¬ 
low us—and every prosperous plantation diminishes the 
difficulty, and gives us courage and hope. You see how 
beautifully evergreen shrubs prosper with us. Did you 
ever, in Spain, see a finer ilex than that I pointed out to 


32 


CONNAUGHT. 


you yesterday on the lawn at Clifden Castle ? and when you 
travel in the lower districts of Connaught, in Roscommon, 
and Leitrim, Arthur will introduce you to forests of laurels 
and arbutus.” 

“If I were an Irishman, I think I should never wish to 
leave the land,” said Yergos; “ if only for this, that the 
field for virtuous exertion really seems boundless.” 

“ There you are right, physically and morally; there is 
an immensity to be done; but the great difficulty to cope 
with here is the spirit of party. I am known not to be an * 
active politician, and therefore I can do more than most; 
but were I either agitator or Orangeman, I might do no¬ 
thing but attend party meetings, or help in serving pro¬ 
cesses and recovering tithes, none of wdiich will I do. I 
wish to see the people follow their religious teachers un¬ 
molested ; and though I always tell them what I think, 
when a fair opportunity arises, they never find me helping 
to prop up a system which I feel is not just. I support 
my own Protestant clergyman as far as I can ; but I have 
no right to help him to take his means of support from 
those who have also to pay the ministers of a faith they 
themselves approve. I believe many Catholic gentlemen 
would contribute voluntarily towards the remuneration of 
a good clergyman, if they were left free, but they can¬ 
not support the present plan, and I cannot wish they 
should.” 

“ Have you had any of those unfortunate tithe affrays, of 
which we often read, in this neighbourhood?” asked 
Vergos. 

“ Alas ! yes.—Only last summer—I knew the clergyman 
well—a worthy, well-meaning man, whose misfortune it 
was to consider it his duty to uphold the system in its ut¬ 
most strictness, for his successor’s sake. For himself he 
would have relaxed, for he was not a mercenary man, and 


EVENING RETROSPECTION. 


33 


I believe lie gave away a large proportion of his receipts 
among the people themselves, but nothing could persuade 
him to abate his claims. He served processes without 
mercy, and followed them up by seizing stock and goods; 
all the while arguing how unreasonable it was in the peo¬ 
ple to resist, when they knew how kind and liberal he was. 
Good man ! he could not be made to perceive, that making 
a good use of money will not excuse its being ill-gotten— 
that it was the principle they objected to. Well, he went 
on, in defiance of the gathering murmurs. I heard of 
them ; I knew they were gaining force every month, and 
all that entreaty could effect I did. I begged at least that 
lid would never use fire-arms, or allow his process-servers 
to carry them; but I soon found that my caution was vain. 
The fact was, he took alarm at some appearance of re¬ 
sistance ; persuaded himself the savages were thirsting for 
his blood; carried pistols always about him for his own 
defence, and armed his men also. They worked themselves 
into a perpetual panic; and in this state of mind no man 
can be trusted, for the most humane individual will com¬ 
mit merciless deeds.—So it happened here. There was a 
family in my friend’s parish, consisting of a father, who 
was a small land-owner, his mother and three children. 
His wife had died the year before, under circumstances pe¬ 
culiarly distressing, and the clergyman had been most kind 
and considerate towards them in their affliction, and there¬ 
fore, I suppose, made very sure of receiving his dues with¬ 
out difficulty, especially as the man was not wretchedly 
poor. There however he was mistaken: whether from 
his own spontaneous impulse, or led on by his neighbours, 
Nolans refused to pay the proctor; and his clergyman was 
excessively irritated thereby. He waited some time, and 
then served him with a very vexatious notice. Nolans 
was surrounded at the moment of receiving it by some 


D 


34 


CONNAUGHT. 


violent neighbours, and they set up a cry of abuse and in¬ 
dignation against the men whom my friend had deputed to 
deliver it. Nolans’ children caught the sound, and begun, 
unknown to their father, to throw stones at the proctor. 
One of the men, irritated, made a cut at the principal boy 
with his whip; this brought up men, women, and boys, 
and a regular battle ensued. Stones were thrown, and 
one of the men hurt: they were mounted on good horses, 
and might, I am well assured, have escaped with ease; 
but in the panic, the proctor drew a loaded pistol from his 
side, fired at random, and shot one of Nolans’boys dead 
on the spot. Can you wonder at what ensued ? The en- 
furiated creatures pressed round the unhappy murderer, 
and never left him till they had revenged the deed, and 
till two victims lay side by side for the one who had been 
slain in the beginning of the fray !” 

“Dreadful!—and the clergyman ; how did he feel ?” 

“That is the worst part of the story.—When men 
harden themselves in false views of duty, their feelings 
are seared as with a hot iron. I believe the death of his 
own servants distressed him ; but I doubt whether he felt 
for the loss poor Nolans had sustained, or rather I suspect 
he considered it as righteous retribution.” 

“And does he go on in the same course ?” 

“ No : happily he has been persuaded to resign his living, 
and return to England ; but his power of doing mischief to 
Ireland is not at an end : the image of his daily and nightly 
fears still haunts him.—He goes about detailing the hor¬ 
rors of a clergyman’s life in Ireland: he is a frequent 
orator at public meetings; and whenever our country is 
mentioned, way is made for him, by persons of like views, 
as a man particularly qualified to speak from experience 
of the bad effects of Roman Catholic principles, and the 
necessity of upholding the Irish Church Establishment. 


THE MOUNTAIN CABIN. 


35 


Thus it is, that assemblies of individuals are deluded, and 
attachment to a dangerous, unjust, and inexpedient sys¬ 
tem, transmitted from father to son.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE MOUNTAIN CABIN. 

During the fortnight which followed the conversation 
concluded in the last chapter, Vergos contented himself 
with various expeditions in the neighbourhood of his 
friend’s dwelling. He found much to amuse, to grieve 
and to instruct him. The people in this part of Cunne- 
mara, though wild and rough, were less miserable, less ut¬ 
terly destitute than he had been led to expect, (for is not 
Ireland but another word for poverty, wretchedness, and 
destitution all the world over ?) But he was told, and af¬ 
terwards found reason to believe that, though very poor, 
their condition was better than that of persons in the same 
rank in many other parts of the country. They held their 
lands and dwellings, for the most part, directly from a few 
large resident proprietors, men respected and beloved in 
the district; and the system of middlemen was much on 
the decline, though by no means annihilated. It seemed 
an improving country : part of the bog-lands were uuder 
cultivation, bearing excellent crops of oats and potatoes. 
The little town of Clifden, which has arisen within the last 

d 2 



36 


CONNAUGHT. 


sixteen years, has a rapidly increasing export trade in 
corn : and there are marble quarries, and valuable oppor¬ 
tunities for establishing fisheries in the neighbourhood. 
Yet, still the progress of things appeared to be slow. 
Lands came very tardily under cultivation, and help 
was wanted beyond what could be afforded by the resi¬ 
dents. The rate of living was cheap: fish, particularly 
salmon, being most plentiful; and the supply of cattle con¬ 
siderable. Yergos talked with many of the cottagers, 
and compared their accounts one with another. Dreadful 
was the picture they gave of the miseries to which they 
were sometimes exposed in the failure of the potatoe- 
crops. And yet they had always something cheerful to 
add, of the relief that had come to them when they least 
looked for it: and when none had come, then it was, 
“Sure, it could not be helped, now.”- 

“And whither now, Mrs. Joyce?” said Yergos, one 
morning, when in the course of his walk he came suddenly 
upon the woman who had assisted him in his perils. “ I 
was coming to your cabin according to my promise; but I 
see you and your children are going out.” He observed 
a look of regret and trouble in her countenance, which he 
did not know how to interpret, and begged to know if any 
thing amiss had happened. 

“Nothing at all;—that is, nothing at all new, your Ho¬ 
nour : only I and the childer be under a vow to-day, and 
•there’s no breaking vows.—We are not going far; only 
to the old Abbey side, hard by; and if yer Honour would 
go into the cabin and wait, the door’s open, and all 
readied, as far as such a place can be; and if yer Honour 
would like to go up higher, there’s Norali Delany at home, 
and has beautiful buttermilk.”— 

“ Well, I will stay there, or near at hand, till you come 
back,” answered Yergos. 



THE MOUNTAIN CABIN. 


37 


A feeling of curiosity, however, crossed his mind. The 
old Abbey which she mentioned, was a mere fragment of 
what had once been the wall of a church ; hut the burial- 
ground was marked with many fresh hillocks, surmounted 
with little black crosses, such as he had often seen in Spain; 
and this ground occupying the greater part of a conical 
hill, he saw distinctly the widow and her children making 
their way to it. “ It is singular,” said he to himself. 
“ Has she lost a child, or a friend ?” Her husband, he 
knew by her own account, had been dead several years. 
He continued looking in the direction of the grave-yard; 
and presently saw his guide throw herself on the ground, 
making the children do the same ; while immediately up¬ 
rose a melancholy wail, not loud and violent like the na¬ 
tional howl, but dismal and despairing in the extreme. 
Vergos could distinguish the woman rocking herself back¬ 
wards, as it appeared, over a grave, but not one newly 
made ; and the children occasionally joined in her gestures 
and cries, though wearied, as it seemed, of grief, they 
soon slipped off to gather flowers, while she continued ab¬ 
sorbed in her sorrow. Vergos did not wish her to find 
him watching her on her return, and therefore soon turned 
off in the direction of the cottage; and not caring to enter 
her own during the owner’s absence, proceeded towards 
that occupied by Norah Delany. This was by much the 
poorest cabin he had seen ; and yet it was something ot 
a shop and inn, or halting-place for travellers. A large 
bottle of whiskey stood in the window, and some glasses 
and smaller bottles near it. A few apples and cakes, some 
tobacco, a little crockery-ware, and also a store oi oatmeal, 
showed the nature of her trade. The day being fine, two 
or three long, lazy-looking fellows, in loose tattered coats, 
sat on a bench outside the door, each of whom had a piece 
of tobacco in his mouth or fingers, while Mrs. Delany’s 


38 


CONNAUGHT. 


voice, loudly raised in a song, might be heard from within. 
As Vergos approached, she stepped outside the threshold, 
and gave to view a dirty figure, with red petticoat hanging 
in tatters, brown boddice, and something like a square of 
very coarse dirty flannel, worn as a shawl on her neck. 
She looked no way surprised or abashed at sight of a 
well-dressed stranger. 

“Would yer Honour be plased to want any thing in my 
way: here’s the best of spirits, and iligant tatliings, as 
chape as in Dublin.” 

“ Thank you, but I cannot be a profitable customer, I 
fear ; I want nothing.” 

“ Nay, sure it can’t be much that a gentleman wants 
and can’t have, when there’s money plenty: but may be 
yer a stranger, and would like to carry away a taste of the 
best; and it’s Norah Delany knows where and when the 
still does its duty best.—Only look, yer Honour, just look 
now if it hasn’t the right colour and all!—Sure ye’re wel¬ 
come to a taste,” and she held up a brimful glass of spirits 
to Vergos. He tasted it to please her, but the draught 
was redolent of turf-smoke, and he could not, in honesty, 
praise it. The men, meantime, had risen from their seats, 
and stood in cringing attitudes by the door. 

“Long life to yer Honour,” said one, “and may the 
land that bore ye be blessed.” 

“ Thank ye, good man.” 

“ The saints above send ye good things.—Sure, don’t we 
know the gentlemen from foreign parts that came with his 
Honour’s Honour, and will give us a trifle to drink his 
Honour’s health, no doubt,” said the other. 

“And we’ll drink long life to him, in his Honour’s own 
glass,” rejoined the first, taking up the glass Vergos 
had just set down, and coolly quaffing off its contents. 
“ Arrah, Mrs. Delany, sure the jintleman as good as in- 


THE MOUNTAIN CABIN. 


39 


vitecl me to be drinking his health, and how would I say 
no ! an’ it’s little ye need grudge it, I’m thinking—raal 
potsheen, quotha ! Shame for you, woman, not to treat the 
stranger better. Yer Honour, I ax pardon, but ye know 
about as much of the true potsheen now, I’m thinking, as 
ye do about the blessed wine at Lough Heargh. Come 
now, Mrs. Delany, dear, stir yourself, an’ give us the right 
thing. Don’t I know the little keg in the corner.—Arrah, 
honey, the gauger never saw that, I’ll be bound.” 

“ Whisht! whisht! ye factious cratur; ye would spoil 
an honest woman’s custom.” 

a Custom, never tell me, now. Don’t I know the still, 
and the hill, and the snug spot where the blue mist rises 
so elegantly in a morning; and sure, the gentleman is not 
like the gauger, bad luck to him ; terrifying poor craturs 
with the law. Bless him, ’tis not for the like’s of him to be 
poking into things that don’t consarn him.—Come, now, a 
glass—quick !” 

But Mrs. Delany, now cautious of her customer, merely 
complied so far as to pour a few drops of the illicit whiskey 
into a glass, which she handed to Yergos, who again 
tasted, but was obliged to own himself no judge of the 
qualities of potsheen. 

u May be, then, yer Honour would let me taste for yees. 
Sure, yer Honour’s under a compliment to me, seeing I ar¬ 
gued the matter with Mrs. Delany, in yer Honour’s fa¬ 
vour.” 

“ My good man, I don’t mean to give you another drop, 
nor another halfpenny to buy one. I will pay Airs. 
Delany honestly for the glass you drank, and that’s all I 
shall do, I can tell you. To say the truth, I suspect you 

take a great deal too much.” 

Indeed ! an yer Honour’s quite mistaken. It isn’t often 
that one of yer Honour’s quality comes to put one into 


40 


CONNAUGHT. 


temptation; for wouldn’t it be a sad thing, now, not to 
drink the health of a raal gentleman, like yer Honour?” 

“I should be inclined to think,” said Yergos, “that a 
stout fellow like you, might be at work such a fine day as 
this, instead of lounging here.” 

“ Yer Honour’s right entirely, saving the megrim in my 
head—that work disagrees with between whiles; but if 
yer Honour has any little light job, such as showing the 
way to the quarry, or picking specimints, I’d be bound to 
do it with the best.” 

“ And if,” said his companion, “ it’s time , his Honour 
wants out of a poor man, sure he should have mine from 
now till evening.” 

“You are a couple of lazy fellows, I am afraid,” said 
Vergos, “and do no credit to your country. If you want 
work, why don’t you go to Mr. O’Ryan : he was saying 
but the other day he had employment plenty.” 

“ Is it O’Ryan ? sure, did’nt he once give me a job that 
broke the back entirely.—It’s being no better than a nig¬ 
ger to slave at the roads all day.” 

“Well, I’ve no time to talk with you. If you want to 
be better off than you are, I know well that you may, and 
so, good morning to you,” said Yergos, slipping a douceur 
into Mrs. Delany’s hand, and walking off in the direction 
of the widow’s cabin. She was returned, and had taken 
great pains to set off her poor cabin to advantage. Being 
a warm day, and not cooking-time, the room was free 
from smoke: the floor appeared to have been both better 
prepared, and was better kept, than in most of the cabins 
Yergos had seen. The pig had a house to himself, and it 
was tightly roofed in. The windows were not entirely 
whole, but, where broken, were fitted with board, or pasted 
up with paper, not stuffed with dirty rags. There were 
even a few attempts at ornament—a picture or two of the 


THE MOUNTAIN CABIN. 


41 


Virgin and Child, and a favourite saint. It struck Ver- 
gos that there must be something particular connected 
with this day, since there were no signs of work about the 
house, and the mistress and children were clad in their 
best, poor as that was. He noticed the children, fine, 
bright-looking creatures, and found he was understood 
■when he spoke, but that they were unable to utter more 
than a few words of English. 

“ Whisht, now ! whisht, ye spalpeen !” said the mother, 
when one of the boys inadvertently, but naturally, an¬ 
swered a question in Irish. “ Don’t be bothering the gen¬ 
tleman with that lie’s no knowledge of.” (She spoke in 
Irish, but we translate for the benefit of our readers.) 
“ Poor childer ?” she rejoined, “ ’tis not that I want ’em 
to leave their father’s tongue, but I’d like they should 
know the maning of these words when they try and spake 
to a stranger in his own, and not be saying, 4 Sure I under¬ 
stand it all, yer Honour!’ and c sure that’s true every 
word of it!’ when they know scarce one word in ten.” 

(C And you really think that your countrymen are in the 
habit of doing this.” 

“Sure, I know it! arn’t they ashamed to say truth; 
and don’t they flatter the gentry to get their will by ’em ! 
It’s no ways right, I’m thinking; and the childer know 

it!” 

u I agree entirely with you, Mrs. Joyce. But how did 
you learn your own English ?” 

“ Indeed, and you’re not the first that have axed! Then 
I lived sarvant long in the family where all spake English 
and nought else ; but that’s many years since;—and when 
I married a Joyce boy, and came back to my own in 
Cunnemara, I took to the Irish again, as if my tongue had 
never parted company with it at all, at all!” 

“ Did you ever go to England ?” 


42 


CONNAUGHT. 


“ Never, yer Honour ! but I lived with them that were 
English in Limerick, and wasn’t that the same mailing as 
to the tongue ? Miss Alice, bless her ! took pains to teach 
me to read it too : but it was lost trouble, and she was 
contint at last to say so. However, I never forgot to spake 
it after; and neither Darby (God rest his soul!) nor I 
ever repinted having travelled, seeing we learnt many 
dacenter ways than if we had lived here all our lives. In 
particular, he never could abide the whiskey, but always 
brought home all he earnt, so long as he had strength to 
work.” 

“I am afraid, by all I have heard, that you have had 
heavy sorrows, Mrs. Joyce.” 

“May be so ; but don’t I know that lie above suffered 
much more nor one of us poor craturs can; and isn’t it 
folly to talk now ?” 

Though there were traces of struggles in this poor 
woman’s face they seemed to have been no ineffectual 
ones. Her look was in general one of calm self-possession. 
Vergos felt that he could not question her about griefs 
borne so quietly. But she soon began again of her own 
accord. “ May be, being a foreigner, yer Honour doesn’t 
know the maning of our customs here, and might think it 
neither decent nor civil that I turned my back on ye but 
now; but ’tis the very same day, five years gone, since 
Darby was put into the ground yonder; and I’ve not left 
keeping the burying-day. O, sure, that was a weary day 
to me and mine; and my heart was well-nigh broke, till 
Father Nolan that’s gone, came and spake comfort to me. 
He was the man above any of the priests for that. He 
was a knowledgable man too, and wouldn’t talk any thing 
idly. Glad was I, even in my sorrow, to think he was 
nigh to read Christian service over the poor corpse, and 
see that all was right and as it should be. He was often 


THE MOUNTAIN CABIN. 


43 


wishing the Cunnemara boys would leave their heathenish 
customs, and let the priests bury their dead dacent; but 
he that’s come now takes no heed of it!” 

“ Do you mean to say that the dead are often buried 
here without priest or service ?” 

“ Sure I do ! Havn’t I seen ’em, times out of mind, carry 
the corpse without so much as a coffin,—only with a cloth 
thrown on it,—to the grave ! and the body will be put in 
without priest or prayer ;* and yet there may have been 
a mighty big wake too ;—the house full from one end to 
the other.” 

“But surely this is not a usual thing in Ireland !” 

“ True for you ! I never seen nought like it, save 
just here in Cunnemara ! but the people don’t like to be 
always sending to the priest, seeing they have little to pay; 
and as for coffins ’tis an awful trade, and unlucky to sell 
the making for them. His Honour gave me the wood for 
Darby.” 

Vergos turned the conversation towards her present 
situation. “You said you had a hard agent over you! 
Shall you be able to make up the rent ?” 

“May be I shall, and may be I sha’n’t!” 

“ How do you mean ?” 

“That it’s at the will of the proctor ! Yer Honour sees 
the bit land the cow feeds on;—the cliilder and I have 
made it worth something, and some say the clergyman 
must have his dues out of it: so if the proctor comes first 
there’ll be less for the agent !” 

“ And if he can’t get his due, what will happen ?” 

“The Joyce boys ’ll look to that !” was her significant 
answer. “ I arn’t afraid of having all my ’tatoes pulled 
up, and the very pig driven, and the chairs carried away, 


* See Letters from the Irish Highlands. 


44 


CONNAUGHT. 


and I in my own country :—barring that, they would soon 
take all!” 

“Mrs. Joyce, I told you before that I was a Catholic; 
but I think no ill of a man for being a Protestant. Tell 
me now fairly, is the rector a good, kind man to the poor?” 

“ I never heard but he was; and if the boys would let 
me, I’d ev’n go, and tell him my tale plainly :—but ye see 
how it is ! They say neither he, nor none of his, have a 
right to their tithe, seeing we never troubles him any way. 
They say we are many,—more by twenty to one,—than 
the Protestants, and that ’tis no justice to make us pay 
for one we never axed hither, nor wished to see ; and so 
they won’t let one of their people go to the rector to ax a 
favour, or make their manners. For my part it’s often 
I’ve pitied’em, poor gentlemen, to be sent to live here 
amongst them that behave so uncivil: but sure ’tis no 
fault of ours at all. They might come like the Scotch 
folk and the Swaddlers, and there’d be no objection;— 
foreby the priest might curse ’em a little, just at first, per¬ 
haps, for dacency’s sake ;—but then they would come on 
their own footing entirely, and would but take what the 
people chose to give, or else live on their own, and not be 
wresting the widdee’s bit from her mouth. I tell ye,” 
she continued, “I’m sorry often for the poor gentlemen, 
seeing they mane to do kindly by us. I’d be glad at 
least to have the childer go to the fine new school they’ve 
built; but the Cunnemara boys say no ! They won’t by 
no means take any thing in good part, seeing the whole 
thing is put upon ’em against their will.” 

“ But, my good woman,—Mrs. Joyce, I mean,—it is a 
pity you don’t follow your own opinion, and get all the 
good you can for the children.” 

“ And that’s wliat’s sometimes too hard for me! It’s 
the childer’s good I think of. But what would I do if 


THE MOUNTAIN CABIN. 


45 


they were to bring the priest upon me, and if all mine 
were to turn their backs on me ?” 

“You do really think they would be friends with the 
rectors if it were not for the tithes ?” 

“ Sure I do ! why would they not ? Let ’em come and 
live quiet among us, not axing for money or goods of them 
that don’t belong to ’em, and why would not our hearts 
warm to ’em when we saw ’em warming to us ? I don’t 
say,” continued she, “ but that there must always be the 
differ between the Roman and the Protestant; but let 
them that send the rector pay him ; ’ tis murtherous work 
putting the poor craturs in here, and give ’em nought to 
live on but the bread they take from them that don’t want 
’em, any way!” 

“But then they say,” said Yergos, (taking the Protes¬ 
tant side, our readers must observe, by way of exercising 
the good woman’s powers of arguing her own,) “ they say 
that your priests are ignorant, and keep you in ignorance : 
and that you will never look for better teaching for your¬ 
selves or children of your own accord, unless they provide 
it for you.” 

“ ’It’s all a crochet, yer Honour ! all a concate ! Don’t 
I tell you, that I would fain send the chikler to the new 
school ? and what is it hinders me, but that the J oyces 
won’t be behoven to the clergy anyway? And what 
makes ’em angry with the clergy but the tithes ? But ye 
were asking just now about the rector. Troth, and I 
believe he is a mighty good man;—time he should,— maning 
that the late one was an awful man for a minister ! Did 
O’Ryan tell ye how he duped the bishop that had never 
been in Cunnemara, and made him buy the bit of glebe 
by the sea, on purpose for him to be more convanient for 
the smuggled goods ? Och ! many a storehouse and barn 
did he build, and many a bale of ill-gotten things was 


46 


CONNAUGHT. 


hidden there. May be he thought ’twas kinder taking his 
living in this way than fighting with the people for the 
tithe. So there he built up his house, four miles out from 
the church, and looked after the potsheen, and the wine 
and things. And the poor young man that’s come in his 
stead, who knows no more of potsheen than a babe, has to 
toil all the way, come the season what it will, to do his 
duties. They say he has larnt the Irish tongue to be 
the plainer among the people, poor young gentleman ! It 
makes one’s heart ache to see him living in a wild place 
that nobody nor a free trader would take to.” 

“And your priest, do he and this new rector ever 
meet and speak civilly ?” 

“ Father Dennis, maning no wilful disrepect, is not the 
man to spake civil. Sure his breeding wasn’t any ways 
genteel, and he came back from Maynootli free like and 
asy as he was afore, and yet not with the ase of the raal 
gentleman ! But I don’t go much in his way, only to 
mass on Sundays; and widdee Joyce is too poor for a 
station to be kept at her house ! When the cliilder grow 
older he’ll put them in mind of the marriage fee, never 
fear!” 

The above conversation is only a specimen of one among 
many, held by \ ergos with the poor people of Cunnemara. 
When he returned from his rambles he was accustomed to 
detail the opinions he had heard, and the information he 
had gained, not however mentioning names, and carefully 
avoiding any breach of confidence. He found that Mr. 
and Miss O’Ryan rarely came to a different conclusion 
from his own, with regard to any of the practical griev¬ 
ances of the Irish. There was indeed great difference in 
their religious views. Yergos, long accustomed to view 
Catholicism as the ancient original faith of Christians, de¬ 
plored all separation from the mother church, and looked 


THE MOUNTAIN CABIN. 


47 


with the fellow-feeling of a brother worshipper on the 
long-persecuted Irish Catholic. Nor did he see, as his 
hosts did, the bad effect of those superstitions which the 
priests so carefully cherish, and which shut out the pos¬ 
sibility of making a wholesome impression on the minds 
which are full of them. Yet he was often shocked, much 
shocked, at what he heard and saw; and often declared that 
he wondered not at those who had only seen Popery in 
Ireland, being very unfavourably disposed towards it. He 
thought the government had been doing wrong for its 
own sake, in fostering home establishments for the educa¬ 
tion of Catholics, rather than encouraging their more libe¬ 
ral instruction abroad. 

In this Mr. O’Ryan agreed. He said Father Nolan was 
one of those men whom he had always pleasure in associat¬ 
ing with; and, as far as his experience went, the old 
foreign-educated priests were milder, more liberal, more 
considerate to their flocks, and far better able to lead 
them on than the generality of the priests educated at 
Maynooth. “You have no idea,” continued Mr. O’Ryan, 
“ of the difficulty which we, as Protestants, have had in 
keeping on terms of decent civility with some specimens 
of the Maynooth men who have fallen in our way. In 
consequence of the moderate expense of obtaining educa¬ 
tion at this college, and the honour which a family in low 
or moderate circumstances always derives from its connex¬ 
ion with a priest, we find the small farmers and land- 
owners extremely anxious to bring up one son at least to 
the ministry. You may judge that this son, when first 
sent to college, must be pretty much on a par with the rest 
of his family. No doubt he may derive, if he pleases, 
many advantages from the instruction he there meets 
with ; but his associates are likely to be, for the most part, 
as rough and narrow and low-lifed as himself: they learn 


48 


CONNAUGHT. 


to be keen politicians and agitators, and though we find 
exceptions to the rule here, as well as elsewhere, we 
are very well satisfied that the mode of education does 
not liberalize our poor countrymen. Then, unfortunately 
again, as you find, our clergy of the Church of England, 
who are, I must say, when residents, for the most part 
zea us, excellent, and well-informed men, are crippled in 
all leir powers by the effects of a bad system. If they 
can e as voluntary labourers, supported only by their own 
people, or the government, they might be of incalculable 
service in Ireland. But, alas ! in the present position of 
things they have to work against the rooted antipathies 
of the nation.” 

“It is a grievous state, indeed!” said Annette, “and 
you will enter into our painful position, sir, as Protestants 
o.-rselves. We respect and honour the clergyman, for in¬ 
stance, of this parish,—the same whom Avidow Joyce 
compassionates so much ; but circumstances forbid our 
actively co-operating with him as Ave could wish ; and at 
present Ave see little fruit of his labours. In fact, if we 
would do some good among the people, we are obliged to 
avoid as far as possible awakening their suspicions and 
those of their priests. If we Avere to do as our good clergy¬ 
man Avislies, and labour at direct proselytism, we should 
find the door shut against us at once. Even old nurse 
BurroAves draws in directly if I venture on an approach 
to the subject: and, far worse than reserve and shyness, 
we are constantly meeting AA’ith insincerity upon those 
points which of all others demand to be purely and simply 
dealt Avitli. 

“ Did I tell you, Arthur, of the Avoman I met the 
other day ? the woman avIio enquired so affectionately for 
you ?” 

“ Dora Creelan, aatis it not ?” 


PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


49 


“The same. Well; I walked part of the way to her 
cabin with her, and the conversation turned upon prepa¬ 
ration for death and the joys of heaven. If you had seen 
her distrustful face as I spoke to her ! I own I am doubt¬ 
ful whether she considered I had any chance in an here¬ 
after ; but she made it appear that mine was the clear 
case, and hers the bad one.—‘Sure, it’s not for the'bkes 
of us poor, dirty creatures, to be going to such a fine i ace 
as Heaven !’ And again :—‘But, may be, now, if I could 
but get hold of the tail of yer Honour’s gown, I might slip 
in with yees!’” 

“ Such are the speeches one continually hears when ad¬ 
dressing them on any solemn topic : they have the clever¬ 
est, and, at the same time, the most disheartening way of 
turning it off into a compliment to oneself.—How far 
worse, how far more hopeless than stupidity !” ru 


CHAPTER V. 

PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 

“Now, Yergos,” said Arthur O’Riley, one morning, 
about a fortnight after his arrival in Cunnemara, “ I am 
determined that this shall be the last day of my imprison¬ 
ment. I have given the doctors and nurses fair play: my 
wound is perfectly cured. To-morrow we set out on oui' 
proposed journey.” 

E 



50 


CONNAUGHT. 


“But what will your father and sister say to my run¬ 
ning away with you so soon after your return ?” 

“ Oh, they will hear it very well. There will be time 
enough for me to show you the whole of Connaught, quite 
at our leisure, these autumn months : then, as you must go 
to Liverpool for the winter, I will take my leave of you, 
and come home to do my duties in Cunnemara, while you 
are learning commercial secrets in the merchants’ count¬ 
ing-houses. In the spring, please God we live, I will meet 
you in Dublin, and we will visit the South together.” 

Yergos liked the plan too w r ell to object. His father had 
given him a year for England and Ireland. "With England 
he was already, however, acquainted: and though it was ne¬ 
cessary for him to spend some time in transacting various 
matters of business in Liverpool and Manchester, he wished 
a large allowance to be bestowed on Ireland and his friend 
O’Ryan. When the young men’s plans came to be dis¬ 
cussed in the evening, Arthur’s father willingly assented; 
saying, that he himself had business at Westport, and 
should like to accompany them so far in his own car. It 
was then agreed that the horses should be sent forward, 
and that they should use the car only during this part of 
the way. 

“ You are not going among strangers,” said Mr. O’Ri¬ 
ley ; “ and therefore I do not attempt to discourage you ; 
as Arthur, I know, will be gladly welcome wherever he 
likes to rest, should his wound again become painful. I 
will give you letters to some of my friends at Sligo, and 
you will be sure to spend your time pleasantly wherever 
you may think proper to halt.” 

We have already supposed our readers to be aware that 
the district of Cunnemara comprises a part of two of the 
fine counties of Connaught, viz. Galway and Mayo. In 
pursuing his travels, Yergos was now to enter into Joyce’s 


PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


51 


country, part of which is also situated in Galway and 
part in Mayo. The boundaries of these two divisions are 
not very accurately marked. As the reader has found, 
there were Joyces in Cunnemara; and between these and 
the Cunnemara people, particularly the numerous clan of 
the Flinns, there were frequent petty hostilities. There 
were certain spots especially, which, from time immemo¬ 
rial, had been disputed ground. King Joyce maintained 
them to be included in his territories; while the Flinns as 
sturdily claimed them for Cunnemara. Now it did so hap¬ 
pen that, on the very day fixed for setting out on their ex¬ 
pedition, a pattern , as it is called, was to be held at the Kil- 
leries, through which our travellers were to pass; and 
Vergos was not sorry to have an opportunity of seeing an 
assemblage of the country-people under such circum¬ 
stances. Fortunately for the party, it was a beautiful day. 
Passing through Clifden, they reached a fine mountain- 
road, skirting the western base of the Twelve Pins of 
Bonabula; while the sea, breaking in on the shore in pic¬ 
turesque bays and inlets, formed the boundary on the left- 
hand. At times, this road entered defiles, and wound 
round the base of some steep hill, which rose betwixt it 
and the sea. At other times, a very deep inlet of the 
ocean itself, would compel the path into some sudden turn, 
which presented a totally new view of the mountains 
and surrounding country. Large lakes occasionally filled 
the hollows of the valleys: the curlew and plover here 
dwell, in general, undisturbed: great flocks of them 
were to be seen as the party drew near their haunts : and 
here, occasionally, in some lonely spot, was to be heard the 
booming of the solitary bittern. Of interesting plants 
there was no scarcity. The trailing arbutus, with red 
stalk and bright red-berries, the black-berried heath, the 
alpine ladies’ mantle, and the pretty gay London-pride. 


52 


CONNAUGHT. 


Also, in plenteous abundance, the genuine Irish heath, 
(i erica daboecia,) found on every mountain and almost every 
plain of Cunnemara and Joyce’s country: no poor stunted 
plant, but a handsome erect bush, almost deserving the 
name of a shrub. All these were pointed out, or at least 
observed by Yergos : and floating on the bosom of the lakes 
he also saw the yellow and white water-lilies; while along 
their margin grew the delicate lobelia dortmann , with the 
eriocaulon. A few cattle and sheep were browsing on the 
mountain’s sides; the bees hummed loudly amid their 
banquet of heath; but of human habitations there were 
not, during a great part of the way, many traces; and, 
what there were, were wretchedly poor and unpromising. 
They seemed untenanted also ; but as the party drew to¬ 
wards the Killery, it was easy to see that there could not 
be a very scanty population in the neighbourhood. At 
length, on reaching a height, Mr. O’Ryan called to the 
driver to pause, and Yergos looked with astonishment at 
the scene below:—the Killery, a very deep, but narrow 
inlet of the sea, which runs far up into the country, as may 
be seen by reference to a map of Cunnemara and Joyce’s 
country. On both sides this inlet is bounded by majectic 
and picturesque mountains. The water is seldom more 
than a mile across : it wears, therefore, at some times, the 
appearance of a tranquil river; but at others, when a 
strong gale blows from the west, the waves of this inlet 
are fearfully agitated. The mountain-barriers, also, rise 
in many places abruptly from the water itself; and in 
stormy weather it is as much as the boatmen can do to ef¬ 
fect a safe landing. It is necessary for the boat to be 
caught, as it were, in the arms of those on the shore, to 
prevent its being dashed to pieces on the surge. Upon 
this scene, which wants nothing but wood to make it as 
beautiful as it is grand, our travellers gazed for a few mo- 


PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


53 


ments; and then they turned to the busy, noisy assem¬ 
blage, which covered a small plain on the top of one of the 
passes between two of the Killery mountains. Yergos 
asked what could be the motive for holding the pattern at 
this place. Mr. O’Ryan replied by pointing to the ruins of 
a holy well. “No doubt,” said he, “a pattern was ori¬ 
ginally held in honour of the patron saint of that well: but 
I lament to tell you, as a good Catholic, that the whole 
business is greatly degenerated. No higher motive, I be¬ 
lieve, than that of recreation, has brought all these good 
folks together; and I wish I could be sure that the day be¬ 
gun so harmoniously may not end in drunkenness and 
fighting.” 

It might be so, Yergos thought; but he could not find 
in his heart to wish the pattern forbidden. The nearer 
they drew to the scene, the merrier did it appear. All the 
fun and finery of the land was there:—rags and dirt, it 
could not be doubted, were brought to the pattern, but 
they were well concealed :—and then the brilliant colour¬ 
ings, the pea-green petticoats, the scarlet hoods ! It was 
plain they were preparing for a dance on the short green 
turf. A young man, violin in hand, had just struck up a 
rousing jig ; and lads and lasses having cleared a wide 
space for their intended evolutions, stood up front to front, 
in eager anticipation; while the elder people sat or stood 
in groups around, some drinking, some smoking, some 
talking, some quarrelling, perchance. 

“ That young fellow,” said Mr. O’Ryan, looking towards 
the musician, “is the dancing-master of our district. 
Pray, what do you suppose is his remuneration ?” 

“ You do not mean that the science is held in sufficient 
estimation among your country-people, to secure any pay¬ 
ment in money to him who teaches it ?” 

«Indeed I do. Few, among our peasants, have grown 


54 


CONNAUGHT. 


up without the expenditure of a few tenpennies on danc¬ 
ing-lessons. Yonder professor charges two tenpennies for 
a course of eighteen lessons; and I assure you that, when 
he came to Clifden, all my Irish servants, and most of the 
poor you have seen around us, availed themselves of his 
services. Poor fellow! he has delicate health, and the heat 
and toil of his lessons was too much for him.—Ah, Dora !” 
continued Mr. O’Ryan, accosting a young woman who just 
then came up, “ are you come to show Mr. Cregan how 
well you have profited by his instructions ?” 

“Troth, I am, yer Honour.” 

“Well Dora; and some one has equipped you hand¬ 
somely.” 

“ And who would it be, I’d like to know, but Miss 
Annette herself! Didn’t she let me choose the colour 
out of all the things that came from England : and beau¬ 
tiful it is, I’m thinking,” casting an eye of complacency on 
her new petticoat, and yet colouring with a bashful con¬ 
sciousness at the same moment: nor was this conscious¬ 
ness abated, when a fine young man of the group below, 
stepped forward to claim her hand in the dance. 

“ There they go !” said Arthur;—“ merry creatures !” as 
they jumped and bounded along in the jig. “ If it were 
not for my late accident, how glad should I be to join 
them ! I well remember the joys of an Irish dance.” 

“ And years seem to be no great obstacle, if I may judge 
by what I see,” said Yergos, pointing to a tall, worn-look¬ 
ing female, who, to his great surprise, he discovered to be 
his old friend, widow Joyce. “I really could not have be¬ 
lieved it.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Joyce is not only a skilful bog-trotter, as you 
know, said Annette, “ but one of the best dancers any 
where in the country. I believe she is rarely absent from 
any of the neighbouring patterns; but she takes the 


PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


55 


amusement in a different way from the neighbours. In 
all things she is original:—she walks off early in the day 
to the gathering; has her dance with the rest; hut never 
touches a drop of spirits, never stays till sun-set, and 
comes home always alone, as she went.” 

Vergos could have stayed long to observe the humours 
of the scene, hut Mr. O’Ryan could not delay. “ If we 
stay here much longer,” said he, “ perhaps I shall he ap¬ 
pealed to on some knotty point, between different factions, 
not easily solved. Let us get out of the way before any 
trouble comes. I am old, and privileged to turn my back 
on such scenes, and my younger neighbours must deal with 
them.” 

“ Will Mr. Archer interfere, sir, properly, in case a fight 
begins ?” asked Arthur. 

“Yes, I can trust him. Most of our magistrates are 
sadly remiss on these occasions, but Archer is not one of 
them : he spares no pains to separate the factions before 
any mischief is done, if possible. I am sorry to say, many 
of his brothers on the bench rather encourage fighting; 
they think it better these rough, wild fellows should ex¬ 
haust their strength and passions on themselves.” 

The party turned their horses from the spot on which 
the pattern was held, and descended the steep road lead¬ 
ing down to the waters of Killery Bay: but steep as it 
was, there were little mountain-paths, steeper and shorter, 
and bringing the foot-passenger to the water’s edge in a 
much less space of time than could have been by the 
beaten road ; and there, at the very bottom of the defile, 
at the foot of a steep projecting crag, they saw before them 
the very woman whom they had so lately observed in the 
dance. She held up her finger to Mr. O’Ryan as he 
passed. 

“ Well, Mrs. Joyce, what do you want with me ?” 


56 


CONNAUGHT. 


“ I ax pardon, for crossing yer Honour’s path; but I 
have a bit of a request: will yer Honour step this way ?” 
drawing him aside. “Yer Honour’s going to Westport, 
may be ?” 

“ You are right; but what is that to you, good woman ?” 

“ Troth, and I’m glad yer Honour will be out of it, en¬ 
tirely ; for why should one, like yer Honour, be bothered 
with the boys, at all, at all ? it’s what myself would’nt be; 
only,” speaking quick and low, “if ye’ve really a-mind to 
save life, ye’ll send up Mr. Archer and the Westport men, 
soon. The boys, there, have got a notion, that Ned Bruce 
has paid tithe; and they’ve vowed to make him remember 
if he have.” 

“ What can you mean ? Have not you paid tithe, and I, 
and many of us round ?” 

“ I know that, yer Honour: but some have vowed not; 
and Ned is one of the sworn boys, and is under an oath 
not to pay—which makes the differ; and he’ll not be let 
break this oath for nothing.” 

“ And is the poor man there now ?” asked Mr. O’Ryan, 
in some alarm. 

“No, yer* Honour; ’cause why; I ’ticed him last-night 
to go and see a friend of his old mother’s, ten miles on the 
other side: but he’ll come back by evening, or I don’t 
know him at all.” 

“And you really wish to save your fellow-creature’s 
life ?” asked Mr. O’Ryan, looking at her with a pene¬ 
trating glance. She stood it firmly. 

“ It’s what I do, O’Ryan : but sure, if lie’s fated to fall, 
he’ll fall; and he’s wilful. What occasion for him to 
take the oath at all ?—I tould him so then.” 

“ You told him true: but let me think what is best to 
be done.” 

“ The best thing, yer Honour, would be for the soldiers 


PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


57 


to lay hold on him, and send him right out of the country at 
wonst; for the hoys ’ll never let him rest, I’m thinking.” 

“ Could not you prevail on him, if you met him, to go of 
his own accord ?’* 

“Not for all the words I could spake, yer Honour; not 
unless I could bring him where he might hear the boys 
themselves plotting his death.” 

“ You think he is safe till evening ?” 

“ Entirely : and it’s partly what brought me here. I’m 
going my way before the sun is down ; and I thought I 
might meet him, and turn him off from his doom, belike.” 

“This is a bad business, I fear,” said O’Ryan, drawing 
his son aside. “ There will, in all probability, be murder 
committed, unless we can find means to prevent it ere 
morning. One thing at least is clear, I cannot go on to 
Westport. Annette and I will return from this point, and 
you and Yergos must take boat, and row as far as you can 
towards Leenane. You know the horses are waiting for 
you there. Make no halt, but ride as fast as you can 
to Westport. Give my compliments to Mr. Archer, and 
beg him to come up with some of the Westport guards. 
Tell him,” continued he, “ that it is merely as a measure 
of precaution.” 

“ But surely you would not have us leave you, sir,” said 
Vergos, “ if there be any occasion for alarm ?” 

“ There is none, whatever, as far as I am concerned : 
but I know the virulence of these fellow's against any one 
supposed to have broken an oath; and I hope to prevent 
Bruce’s coming into their hands: for fear I should not, 
however, or to guard against the consequences of their 
disappointment, it will be right to have the soldiers at 
hand. My chief trust, however, is in this good woman. 
Will you undertake, Mrs. Joyce, to w'atch for Bruce, and 
bring him up to Ardbear Lodge ? Tell him I have par- 


58 


CONNAUGHT. 


ticular business with him:—we can keep him safe for one 
night, no doubt.” 

“ Indeed, yer Honour,” said the widow, in a determined 
tone, “ I’ll do no such thing.” 

“ What! did you not tell me you wished to save the 
poor fellow’s life ?” 

“ True, for you ;—but not to risk one that’s worth far 
more nor twenty Ned Bruces. Mightn’t many an eye see 
me bring him that way ; and then, is it my arm or voice can 
save ought belonging to ye that stands in the way of ven¬ 
geance ?—No, no, Honour Joyce knows better nor 
that.” 

“ But what can we do ?” 

“ See then:—let yer Honour write a bit note to ’Squire 
Martin, living all the way down to Galway; and leave it 
to me to send Ned Bruce with it for yer Honour. Tell the 
’Squire to keep him a day and night, and ye’ll find means 
to let him hear again.” 

“ She has thought of the best plan,” said Mr. O’ Ryan, 
“ if she can but meet w ith Bruce ;—but that is the ha¬ 
zard:” and hastily taking out his tablets, he w r rote such a 
a note as he thought sufficient to detain the bearer in a 
place of safety ; while he avoided any communication that 
might endanger his security, if the note should be found 
upon him. Mrs. Joyce undertook the charge of this.—“ I 
trust you will take care of yourself\ in the business, Mrs. 
Joyce,” said he. 

“ Your Honour may trust me. I go out and in, and no¬ 
body quistions Honour Joyce :—the cliilder help too. One 
way we’ll save the man, if it can be done.” 

“ Well, do so; and God prosper you.” 

“ I’ll go back to the dancers, now ; and no one’ll think 
any thing of my being out of the way aw hile ; but yer Ho¬ 
nour had better ride on a bit, just as if going in the car for 


PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


59 


a tower; then ye can put the young gentlemen into the boat, 
and come home, quiet and easy, by the other road—if come 
home ye must.” 

The whole plan was arranged and followed with perfect 
ease; and Arthur and his companion, though sorry to part 
with the father and daughter, agreed that it was the best 
measure, under existing circumstances. The feelings with 
which they now pursued their way were not favourable 
to the enjoyment of the scenery, yet they could not help 
admiring it. Once launched in a boat on the Ivilleries, the 
views were indeed sublime :—the dark mountain barriers 
on each side, forbidding egress to all but the fowls of the 
air ; the measured sound of the oars, and, excepting this, 
the perfect stillness of the scene, were very striking.—On 
they rowed, quite up to the Killery-head, and there, at the 
top of this ocean inlet, stands Leenane, the residence of the 
head of the Joyce family. Here, according to appointment, 
our travellers’ horses were in waiting. The great King Joyce 
himself was from home, but as expedition was required on 
our travellers’ present errand, they did not very much re¬ 
gret this : indeed, Arthur had been dreading a delay at 
this place, for it was, he well knew, not easy to escape the 
hospitalities which would be pressed upon them; and as 
Mr. Joyce possessed a considerable share of curiosity, and 
not a little address in extracting any thing that was to be 
known, he was well pleased to be spared a cross-examina¬ 
tion. 

u This is truly a noble prospect,” said Vergos, pointing 
to the fine mountain-range before them, as they took the 
Westport road.—“Andwhat is that mountain which stands 
so proudly out from the rest—a great deal higher, I should 
judge, than any of them ?” 

“ Oh, that,” said Arthur, “ is the Reek; that is, the ce- 


GO 


CONNAUGHT. 


lebrated Crow Patrick. From that mountain, you must 
know, St. Patrick drove all the venomous beasts in Ire¬ 
land into the sea,—when he had, with great pains and dif¬ 
ficulty, collected them together; and ever since that blessed 
time, we have not been troubled with so much as a toad.— 
To do him honour, there is an altar on the top of the 
mountain. It rises directly from the shore of the Bay of 
Westport:—it is truly a magnificent mountain; and if 
you have a mind to ascend it, you will find plenty of pil¬ 
grims to keep you company. It is a most famous place for 
* stations;’ and you may see crowds at some particular 
times in the year, doing penance, by making the ascent in 
the most laborious and painful ways possible. But come, 
you will have the Reek before you for a long time : I must 
not let you pass by all this nice cultivated country without 
observation. Look;—this is all the Marquis of Sligo’s 
land ; and, in general, you may see it is in an improving 
state :—more wood is springing up, more corn, more cat¬ 
tle, and you will find these cottages better than those you 
have lately seen. Westport itself is decidedly less flourish¬ 
ing than it was a few years ago, I am sorry to say; for the 
linen trade, which used to be carried on very extensively, 
is now much diminished : but my father tells me that, to 
make up in some degree for this, there is an increased ex¬ 
port trade in corn.—And now look at the harbour,” con¬ 
tinued he, as they reached an elevation commanding a 
noble view of the Bay. The mountains of the coast and 
the sea were not the only picturesque objects Vergos 
found. The Bay itself was studded with islands, some 
rugged and mountainous. Among others, Acliill Island 
and Clare Isle were particularly pointed out to him. The 
former of these is 24,000 acres in extent, very bare, and 
the inhabitants w r retchedly poor. There are good sound- 


PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


61 


ings among these islands, and, once within them, vessels 
may ride safely; but the navigation is intricate and 
troublesome. 

u This Mayo district is a fine specimen of wild mountain 
country,” observed Vergos. Yon pretty neat town, and 
other symptoms of civilization, seem hardly in keeping.” 

“ I see a considerable alteration, indeed,” said Arthur, 
u even in these three years; and believe half those white 
houses have sprung up within this time, thanks to our 
landed proprietors. But still, I am sorry not to hear a 
better account of our linen-trade. I remember when a 
man used to earn ten shillings a-week by this business :— 
let us hope it is but a temporary depression.” 

The travellers pushed on, mindful of their first errand, 
on reaching Westport, to the house of Mr. Archer, the 
magistrate. He was at home, and readily undertook to go 
immediately with a police-force to the pattern, and also to 
inform Arthur of the event the next morning. Meantime, 
Yergos and his friend were most kindly pressed by his 
wife and family to take up their quarters for the night at 
his house, a little way out of Westport; but as they wished 
to spend the evening in making a little circuit in the neigh¬ 
bourhood, their hospitable offers were declined. 

“ I must show you,” said Arthur, “ a spot which, in my 
boyhood, I always considered as a perfect paradise. I 
want to see if it has lost its attractions :” and he led his 
friend into the small, but exquisite domain of Lord Sligo.— 
A lovely lake, abundance of fine timber, near views 
warm, sunny, and Italian in character; the distance 
bounded by the sea and the never-tiring mountain-range. 
These formed a whole, quite sufficient, Y ergos thought, to 
justify his friend’s admiration; and he could not but 
grieve to see so sweet a spot untenanted. Leaving this 
domain, they took a nearer view' of the Reek, and made a 


(>2 


CONNAUGHT. 


circuit round tlie base of a neighbouring mountain, which 
changed the whole view. The poorer people whom Ver- 
gos addressed, seemed, as usual, in a state of great poverty. 
Many of the men were gone to England to the harvest, 
leaving their wives and daughters to maintain themselves 
as well as they could in their absence. He enquired if 
they would really bring back the greater part of their 
earnings, and was assured they would :—that they would 
probably beg their way back, sleeping either in the open 
air, or under sheds by the way-side, if permitted. 

“ How miserable must be the state of these poor crea¬ 
tures,” said Arthur ; “ and how much are they traduced, 
when we see them undertaking such journeys as this, 
merely for the earning of a pound or two, to pay the rent 
of their cabin or potatoe-ground !” 

“ What becomes of the family at home in the absence of 
the father ?” was Yergos’ next question : his eyes turned, 
as he asked it, upon two or three miserable hovels on the 
coast. He saw a poor half-naked woman, with two chil¬ 
dren, go to the door of one of these hovels. He saw the 
door open; and after a moment’s parley, to his utter 
amazement, he saw the inmates of this hovel, but one de¬ 
gree better clad than the poor creatures without, reach out 
their hands, and bestow a gift of potatoes on the beggar. 
She seemed noway surprised : she took it, as if it was her 
customary daily portion ; sat down by the road-side, and 
ate herself, and gave to her children. 

“Stay awhile,” whispered Arthur; “more are com¬ 
ing.” And as he spoke, other applicants were observed, 
creeping along from different points towards the cottages ; 
and it seemed that, while a potatoe was left in the bowl, 
they were supplied. 

Aie these all vagrants ?” asked Yergos, of a decent- 
looking man, who just then approached from the town. 


PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 63 

“Not one of them, sir, I believe,” said the man, touch¬ 
ing his hat civilly. “ I think I know every face among 
’em; and well enough I may, for they’re regular customers. 
That woman, that has scarce strength to crawl, and drags 
along with her a little hoy in her hand, is Pat Roclifort’s 
wife:—a decent fellow, and good workman as need he; 
but lie’s off harvesting.” 

“ Good heaven !—and is there no provision for a decent 
workman’s wife, that she must be driven to live by begging 
till he returns ?” 

“ It’s no more nor less than most of them do, sir : but 
they don’t reckon it begging. The neighbours can’t bide 
the reproach of having them starve at their doors; and 
’tis cheaper to give potatoes than money.” 

“ But those poor people, living in those wretched cot¬ 
tages,—surely they cannot afford to spare even a po- 
tatoe !” 

“ Ill enough, sir, indeed ; but they know, when their 
turn comes, they’ll be helped. We all take turn-about. I 
suppose, in the long run, I give the worth of two shillings 
in potatoes and milk every week; and some, and not 
rich either, I know, do more :—none like to have the curse 
put upon them.” 

“ But have these families no means of living but this, in 
their husbands’ absences ?” 

“ One or two may, sir ; but very few, I believe. When 
you know that a man has but fivepence a-day for labour, 
you may well think there can have been no provision be¬ 
forehand.” 

“ This is shocking !” whispered Yergos ;—“ most shock¬ 
ing ! But what, then, becomes of your widows with fami¬ 
lies, of your aged poor, of your sick ?” 

“ Oh, sir, it is sometimes a dreadful tale:—no one 
would wish it twice told. One comfort is, that suffer as 


64 


CONNAUGHT. 


they may, they never have the feeling of being entirely 
forsaken. If a poor creature dies for want, and, indeed, I 
don’t deny that many do, sooner or later, there’s still al¬ 
ways somebody near to pity, if they cannot help:—no¬ 
body can say their hearts are hardened.-If you have 

time, sir, as you seem to be a stranger and curious about 
us, I should like you to speak to a poor widow in yonder 
cabin. Where you have lived hitherto, I don’t know; but 
you ought not to forget what is to be seen in Ireland, if 
nowhere else in the wide world. But here she comes—• 
ask her any thing you please. She’s civil and clever; poor 
creature as she looks.” 

The woman of whom he spoke was miserably thin, 
bony, and worn : but though her clothing and whole ap¬ 
pearance were those of gaunt poverty, there was a look 
of intelligence and civilization about her. Her clothes, 
such as they were, were decently put on; and she walked 
steadily, (as steadily as weakness would permit,) as it 
seemed, on an errand of real business, making her children 
curtsey to the gentlemen, as she was about to pass, and 
not attempting to attract their charitable notice. Yet 
the look of hunger in her pinched countenance struck Ver- 
gos most painfully. 

“ Is it to the kiln again, Mrs. Kirle ?” asked the West- 
port townsman in a softened tone of voice. “ I’m afraid 
that kiln is killing ye. I wish, now, you would sometimes 
call as ye go by, and ask for a drink of buttermilk for the 
children.” 

“ I haven’t come quite to that yet, Mr. Daly,” she an¬ 
swered ; “ though well I believe ye mane kindly : but Sally 
Kirle must fare worse still, ere she asks with the beg¬ 
gars.” 

“ But I did not mean ye should come with them. I 
only asked ye to stop, like a civil neighbour; and then 



PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


65 


my wife likes to see the children drink a sup.—This gen¬ 
tleman, being a stranger, would like to hear about the 
kiln—would you mind telling him ?” 

“ Not the least; that is, if the gentleman would be 
plased to step to the kiln himself. But I don’t deal my¬ 
self for the meal; does he know that ?” 

Arthur quickly explained, that neither he nor his friend 
were traders ; and when he had mentioned his name, and 
Vergos’ wish to know the real state of the working people, 
she answered every question readily and respectfully, 
leading the way at the same time to the kiln, at a short 
distance. 

u My husband,” said she, “ was one who bought in oats 
to sell again, when dried and dressed for meal; and I used 
to help him, till I learnt to tend the kiln for myself. Now 
he is dead, and I have nothing better to do than to follow 
the business ; and thanks I owe to the Lord that we have 
it:—I and the four children must have begged, else; for we 
had nothing, not a tenpenny left in the house when the 
father died; and a sore time it was. I was ill, myself, 
too, then, and my heart half-broke with grief: but what 
couldn’t I do, when I looked at the poor things ? At first, 
the kiln-masters said I should never be able to stand the 
work ; and that no man, let alone woman, would, or coidd 
do what I talked of. I won’t say I was sure I could, 
either;—but I tried; and I done it up to now: only I 
know very well it is killing me, it is, in no time.” 

Vergos asked a few questions about the nature of the 
employment, and remuneration. To his amazement and 
deep concern, he found that this poor, but most respecta¬ 
ble and deserving woman, was employed for twenty-four 
hours without intermission, three or four times in the 
course of every week,—sitting up the whole night each 
time,—to watch the kiln, and receiving only from four- 

F 


CONNAUGHT. 


65 

pence to sevenpence every cast. He learnt that, during the 
busy times of the year, she seldom laid down on a bed— 
sometimes not for three weeks together; but merely ob¬ 
tained short snatches of sleep between the kiln-casts. 
About two-and-sixpence per week was her highest wages, 
for this worse than Negro labour; and at times, of course, 
the remuneration was less. She owned she had often 
lived upon one meal of potatoes in the course of the day ; 
that she had scarcely ever been able to buy herself or 
children clothes ; but the neighbours had sometimes as¬ 
sisted her :•—now and then she was able to procure a very 
little milk, and once in awhile, a red-herring. Yet it was 
her pride] to say she had never begged, nor would she al¬ 
low one of the children to do so. 

By the time she had finished her narrative, she was ea¬ 
gerly called for by the other kiln-driers, and quietly re¬ 
sumed her station; while Vergos could not forbear ex¬ 
pressing himself in the strongest terms, on the misery and 
hardships of such a lot. 

“ Hard enough, sure,” said one of the men who stood 
near, and whose business it was to superintend the general 
work of the kilns. “ I say, hard enough, master, sure ; 
and if she wasn’t a clever body, she couldn’t do even that, 
or any thing like it: for my part, it would kill me in a 
month.” 

“ If I were master here, my good man, she should at 
least have better wages,” said Yergos. 

“ That is, sir, I suppose,” said the master himself, 
coming forward, “if it were a clear case, that you 
could do so without doing more harm than good. I now 
employ more labourers by half than I want, or wish for:— 
if I were to turn off twenty, I could afford to give ten bet¬ 
ter wages,: but, surely, while pressed down by numbers, 
as we are, we must try to keep as many as possible from 


PROJECTS AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


67 


starvation ; and this it is that keeps wages so low. Then 
the crowds of beggars are a continual drain on our purses, 
in one shape or other.” 

“ You must wish very much for some regular provision 
for these destitute creatures, I am sure,” observed Ver¬ 
ges. 

a I have not made up my mind on that, altogether,” said 
he ; “ though I know something should be done. I’m in¬ 
clined to think a great many kinds of help are wanted : 
but the grand thing is, that at present, we have ten times 
the number of hands there is profitable employment for.” 

“ And this is a Christian country !” exclaimed Vergos, 
as they turned towards the town :—“ civilized, too; and 
under the government of no dark tyrant, no half-barba¬ 
rous despot. Here is one land yoked to another ; that 
other, far above herself in all that is generally esteemed 
honourable to the human race :—here is poor Catholic 
Ireland, protected and governed, as it is called, by free, 
liberal, prosperous Protestant England !—A precious hand 
she appears to have made of it.” 

Arthur was silent; but as his friend spoke, he could not 
help anticipating a yet more indignant philippic hereafter. 
It was a great relief to their minds, when they found, the 
next morning, that Mr. Archer was returned, bringing 
with him intelligence of the safety of those they had left 
behind ; and also a note from Arthur’s father, informing 
them that Mrs. Joyce had been successful, and had sent 
the obnoxious individual off to Galway, where he would 
probably be detained till they reached that place. 



G8 


CONNAUGHT. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A DIGRESSION. 

“ And now, gentlemen,” said the worthy magistrate, “ if 
you are not particularly pressed for time, I have a proposal 
to make, which I shall be glad to find proves agreeable to you. 

I am going to-morrow morning to visit my friend Colonel 

B-, who has a sporting-lodge on the coast of Black Sod 

Bay : if you have any wish to see the sports of as singular 
a tract of country as ever you visited, do accompany me. 
I will ensure you a welcome from the Colonel, and I will 
venture to say you will find it worth your while.” 

Yergos saw that his friend’s eyes sparkled at the pro¬ 
posal. “ The very thing !” answered he. “ I did not ven¬ 
ture to start the project myself, because I knew our over- 
careful ones would have objections innumerable; but 
really it is a shame, that Vergos should visit Mayo without 
coasting it northwards and seeing our fine game.” 

“ Agreed, then,” said Mr. Archer. We start to-morrow 
morning.” 

“ And our horses ; our equipments ?” 

“ Leave that to me. I should recommend you to send 
them from Castlebar with your servant to Ballina : there 
they can wait a day or two for you ; and we will have hired 
country ponies for this expedition : we shall boat it, also, 
good part of the way.” 

“ Then heaven send us fair weather !” exclaimed Ar¬ 
thur : “ for we all know the miseries of boating on our 
coast in bad.” 

“ There is a young moon,” observed Mr. Archer, “ and it 
looked fair and promising last-niglit; that is all we can say.” 



A DIG11ESS10X. 


69 

Early on the following day, Mr. Archer’s car, and the 
travellers’ horses were at the door; and they proceeded, 
over a tolerably good road, to Castlebar, which is the capi¬ 
tal of Mayo, and a large and populous town. At this place 
Mr. Archer hired strong ponies, and two guides; and they 
proceeded first to Newport, also a port and market-town ; 
and afterwards, by a very rugged road, along the indented 
coast. On the left hand was Clew Bay and its many is¬ 
lands ; on the right, hills and barren moorland. After 
travelling some miles, a pass opened inland, between the 
mountains, and our travellers turned their backs, for 
awhile, to the sea. But here is another of those deep 
wunding channels, which convey the waters of the ocean 
many miles up the coast:—a branch from Black Sod Bay 
nearly meets the waters of Clew Bay, almost encompassing 
a large tract of main land : and here it was that the gen¬ 
tlemen found Colonel B—’s galley in waiting for them. 
Sending their ponies on by land, they went on board. It 
took them about an hour to shoot through the confined, 
dangerous channel, and to reach the broader waters of 
Black Sod Bay : and though it was a voyage of some little 
danger, from the gusts of wind which vessels encounter at 
every turn round the projecting headlands, they were well 
repaid by the view of this bold coast, and the numerous 
other natural objects of interest. A noble pair of eagles 
flew leisurely just over their heads; and flocks of the cur¬ 
lew made the rocks ring with their piercing cries. The 
shores still rose precipitously from the water; and a ruined 
castle crowned the summit of a rock ; but there was now 
little leisure for further observation. The vessel doubled a 
projecting point, ran up a creek, and in a short time our 
travellers were at the wild mountain-lodge of their friend- 
A singular spot it was. The house was low, as best be. 
fitted its situation: it did not idly “ court the boisterous 


70 


CONNAUGHT. 


gale,” but spread forth a broad base, promising ample 
shelter and security. A vast cliff, jutting out athwart the 
head of the creek, at the bottom of which stood the dwell¬ 
ing, afforded it considerable shelter in stormy seasons ; 
though not so complete, but that the spray and foam of 
the Atlantic often dashed against the windows. The 
rooms were neat and warm; blazing turf fires diffused 
their heat around, and all the bustle of a farm surrounded 
the house. At the door stood the host, a hale, hearty 
sportsman ; and a little way from him, near the dog-ken¬ 
nel, his son, (he was a widower,) a young man about six- 
and-twenty. The pair seemed made for each other, and 
for the life they led : neither cared a straw for cities or so¬ 
ciety. Fishing and hunting, shooting and otter-catching, 
all the delights of a primitive country, abounding in game, 
were their very life of life. They could tell every point in 
the history of the tribes of earth, air, and flood :—they 
talked of the creatures around them, with a fondness, 
which we have observed to be, by some singular anomaly, 
pre-eminent among men wdiose pleasure it yet is to pur¬ 
sue and destroy them. No doubt a philosopher would call 
it selfishness; but it is not wholly so. Real sportsmen 
generally abhor petty, unnecessary cruelties: you rarely 
find them wanton tormentors of animals ; on the contrary, 
they are thoughtful of whatever may conduce to the com¬ 
fort and pleasure of the existence of these races; and when 
they destroy, do it in the way to produce the least of suf¬ 
fering. 

The season was so far advanced when our travellers 
visited Black Sod Bay, that Colonel B- did not pro¬ 

mise them much sport; but he at least gave them hearty 
welcome. The hopitalities of his table were rather redun¬ 
dant : fresh, beautiful cod and hake, exquisitely cooked; 
grouse and venison from the hills, with large accom- 



A DIGRESSION. 


71 


panying libations both of claret and whiskey, detained 
Yergos and his friend somewhat longer than was agreeable 
to them; but slipping out of the room, they strolled into 
the fresh air, and mounted a hill which screened their 
host’s dwelling on the north. A glorious prospect opened 
to them: hills stretched off to the north and west, and nar¬ 
row defiles between, promised shelter for the grouse, and 
perhaps for the deer. As they w r ere gazing in this di¬ 
rection, their host’s son joined them, and told them they 
were not wrong in their conjecture; for that the beautiful 
and rare red deer of the country w r ere sometimes still seen 
in these valleys ; and that a magnificent one had been shot 
very lately. It was pathetic to hear the lamentations of 
the young man at the rapid decrease of these animals. 
“ My father,” said he, “ when a boy, used to meet some¬ 
times as many as forty herded together. O, when shall I 
see such a sight! I have never been fortunate enough to 
find more than ten or twelve: they are more and more 
scarce every year. Our greyhounds are already gone; 
and when our noble red deer are extinct, what will there 
be in Ireland worth living for ?” 

“ But cannot you keep up the race by care ?” asked 
Vergos. 

“I am sorry to say it is almost impossible. "We have 
taken the fawns young in the mountains ; but we generally 
fail in rearing them: and if we confine a couple of older 
ones, even in a wide park-like enclosure, their offspring 
are still far inferior to the wild mountain-race. There are 
some particular plants and lichens on which they feed in 
their native state, which are difficult to transplant, and 
seem essential to their prosperity. In the winter-months, 
when the severity of the weather obliges them to seek the 
sheltered valleys, our native freebooters make sad havoc 
among them. But I am afraid,” continued he, “our 


72 


CONNAUGHT. 


mountain air is rather too cold for you at this time of the 
day: I should recommend your returning to the house 
and taking coffee: to-morrow we will take as long a round 
as you please.” 

As they walked towards the house, Arthur enquired 
about the summer’s fishing, and the general plenty of 
name on the hills and moors. 

“ The priest, and my father and I,” answered the young 
man, “ have often caught as many as twelve or fourteen 
fine salmon in a morning with the hock. When we use 
the net, which is allowable from the latter part of June 
till the 12th of August, the quantity is of course much 
greater; and we also catch a vast number of white trout 
in the pools and lakes: they are not so large, however, 
as you may expect. From seven to fourteen pounds 
weight is the average of our salmon; though my father 
once caught a monster weighing fifty-six pounds. There 
is much poaching carried on at night; and now, though 
the fish is unwholesome, I believe a great many are 
caught: but you were enquiring about other game.—Yes, 
it has been plentiful; but our grouse and pheasants have 
many enemies. We are sadly tormented by wild cats, 
foxes, weasels, and other vermin: and then the birds of 
prey are numerous. There, on that promontory, a pair of 
sea-eagles have had their eyrie beyond the memory of man, 
and no art of ours has ever been able to reach them. 
Year after year they bring up a new brood to our annoy¬ 
ance. If you were immediately under the cliff, you would 
be astonished at the proofs of their voracity. Heaps of 
bones, and feathers, of rabbits, hares, poultry, and small 
game, as well as fish, meet our eyes.” 

“You said, you had in vain tried to get rid of them,” 
said Yergos : “ may I ask how ?” 

“ There is but one possible mode of attack. The nest is 


A DIGRESSION. 


73 


full two hundred feet above the sea; and to get at it from 
below is out of the question. We let down our hench¬ 
man by a rope, in a basket, last year, from the top; but the 
cliffs beetle over so far, that he could not get near it, and 
the old ones attacked him so furiously, as almost to upset 
the basket. Another time, a young peasant tried the 
same plan ; but he also was attacked by one of the birds, 
and in endeavouring to defend himself with a sort of cut¬ 
lass which he carried with him, he was unfortunate enough 
nearly to cut asunder the rope by which he hung: one 
strand of it, however, remained, and he was cautiously and 
safely drawn to the top ; but the horror of his situation 
had so strong an effect upon him, that his hair, which had 
been of a dark auburn, in that short period became per¬ 
fectly white!” 

When they reached the house, the Colonel and his 
friend came out to meet them, and joined in the conver¬ 
sation. “ In the island of Achill,” said the former, “ the 
poor peasants suffer sadly from the eagles and foxes:— 
they have nearly left off keeping ewes and fowls, and our 
salmon-pools are much thinned by the destroyers.” 

“What can that very small object be which I see yon¬ 
der ?” asked Vergos, suddenly. 

“Oh, that is Nora Creagh, fishing in her corragh. I 
wonder she stays out so late in the afternoon.” 

“ A woman !—good heaven ! And in what a vessel!” 

“You may well say so : but mark her, she is coming on 
shore.” 

And even as he spoke, the little skiff danced over the 
waves, and the rower sprang to land, dragging her vessel 
after her: it was a very nut-shell: a few hoops secured 
with cords, and covered by canvass, rendered water-proof 
by a coating of tar and tallow. The bottom was strewed 
with fish just caught, which the woman laughingly gave to 


74 


CONNAUGHT. 


a boy who came to meet her, bringing a basket. This 
done, she slung the corragli over her shoulders, and pass¬ 
ing our party with a modest courtesy, was going up to¬ 
wards a distant cottage. 

“ Well, Nora,” said the Colonel, “ you have had good 
success, I see. Long life to the corragh !” 

“ Ah, long life to the corragh ! yer Honour may well 
say that: it has carried me over the wild waves like a sea¬ 
bird, when his Honour’s cutter could not have stood the 
gale an hour:—the children love it as if it were a tiling of 
sense.” 

“And when, Nora, did you go to Acliilllast ?” 

“ Indeed, and it was but yester eve I went, Colonel.” 

“So lately ?” 

“Yes; and what would ye be thinking, now, of my tak¬ 
ing a lady;—a raal lady over wid me !” 

“ I should say, she was a brave woman, indeed.” 

“Ye may say that; for the tide was running this way 
and that way in Achill/arse^;* and the sea-birds screamed, 
and the wind howled; but she never turned pale; only 
sat calm and quiet; and I thought, sometimes her lips 
moved, as in prayer.” 

“ How came she to go with you ? She might have had 
my galley, and welcome ? Why did not you come to me, 
Nora? I take it very ill of you.” 

“ There’s no occasion,” quietly rejoined Nora. “ Sure, 
myself begged her to let me come to your Honour; but 
she said, she knew ye were no friend to the missioners, 
and she would not ask ye to do what, may be, ye would 
gladly deny.” 

“ Oh, I understand ;—a missionary; going to make war 

* The sound between Acliill and the main landthe reader has but to look at 
the map, in order to be convinced of the danger of this passage ; opposite tides from 
Clew Bay and Black Sod Bay meeting in this narrow passage. 


A DIGRESSION. 


75 


on the priests, 1 suppose. Poor men ! they have a hard 
battle to fight, when fair ladies attack them in their strong 
holds!” 

“ But, Colonel, I will say this, that a gentler creature 
never trod the turf, than this lady. My heart warmed to 
her :—and then, I found it was to take care of the brother 
she was going, hearing him to be ill; and no doctor nor 
nurse near : so she came all the way from Dublin to visit 
and tend him, God bless her !—and it was worth your lap- 
full of gold to see the meeting :—how he first blamed, and 
then kissed her, for coming; and how the tears came into 
her eyes, when she saw the poor hut on the side of Slieve 
More, where he had laid so long, with only a poor old wo¬ 
man to see to him.” 

“The creature makes a child of me,” said the good- 
natured Colonel, brushing away a tear. The missionaries 
are good sort of people enough, I believe, though there has 
been no peace with the islanders since they came. But 
the lady, Nora; I am afraid she could find very poor ac¬ 
commodation.” 

“ The best in Achill, yer honour; the new little cottage, 
where the coast-guard and his wife live. There’s a neat 
room, and elegant bed, and the lady will have that: she 
spoke quite cheerfully about it, and said it was only better 
than she had at all expected : and then she has the minis¬ 
ter’s -wife near at hand ; and the school, and the Protestant 
folk, and the turned Papists ; but I don’t believe in them , 
any how.” 

“ Now, there you are wrong, Nora,” said a fisherman, 
coming up : “I say they are turned. Don’t I know at 
least a score of ’em that never minded the priest’s curse 
one straw,and send their children to school, quite reg’lar !” 

“And how long’ll that last?” asked Nora, in con¬ 
temptuous tone. 


70 


CONNAUGHT. 


u I don’t know, Mrs. Nora : ’tis folly to be bound for 
any; but, certain as I stand here, I believe there’s some 
of ’em that would go through fire and water or ever they 
go back to mass; and what’s more, I’m one of ’em, and I 
don’t care who knows it, not I !” added he, passing on, 
while Nora muttered a few words, and dropping her 
curtsey to his Honour, took her leave. 

Something was said that night at the Lodge of the Pro¬ 
testant colony at Achill. Many pros and many cons were 
uttered by the speakers ; but none could help admiring the 
zeal and patience, which had led these families of Chris¬ 
tians to forego the comforts of civilized life, and take their 
portion with the inhabitants of the wild, sequestered Is¬ 
land of Achill. Even the Colonel, who, to say the truth, 
would have preferred the undisturbed dominion of his 
sportsmanlike friend, the priest, allowed the merit of the 
missionaries ; and said he was determined, as far as in him 
lay, to protect them from injury. “ Poor people!” said 
he, “ a hard time they are like to have of it. The crops 
have failed this year, and I doubt there will be such a time 
of starvation as scarce has been known before : and yet it 
was horrible enough last time. If you had seen the pea¬ 
sants, wandering up and down on the rocks, living chiefly 
on sea-weed, with the typhus fever all the while raging 
among them, and no doctor in the place; but there is 
one coming, I’m told, to settle among the missionaries. 
You saw, of course, Slieve More,” continued he, addressing 
Arthur, “as you came up this way;—that high mountain, 
where the eyrie is: Dugurth, the only village, is just 
under it. If you had time, we could presently cross, wind 
and weather permitting.” 

Arthur thanked him, but feared they had no time. 
He said, he shoxdd not be satisfied with merely seeing; he 
should think it right to stay some little time, if he wished 


A DIGRESSION. 


77 


to form a just judgment of what was doing : and he had 
rather believe, as he did now, that the mission was car¬ 
rying on in a Christian spirit, than see or hear little de¬ 
tails, which might strike him as objectionable in its pro¬ 
ceedings, without having sufficient time to comprehend 
the difficulties. 

The next morning, the Colonel’s galley being ordered 
out, the party embarked in it, sailing northwards, towards 
that part of the coast called the Mullet. Here they 
landed, and walked a considerable way up the country, 
till they came to a narrow valley between tw r o steep hills, 
where their host told them three red deer had lately been 
seen. They kept along the top of one of the hills, which 
formed the boundary of this glen, cautiously looking, at 
times, down the defile, till the Colonel suddenly made a 
sign to them to stop, and lie down on the turf near some 
bushes. Having obeyed his order, they had the pleasure 
of seeing these beautiful animals browsing on the turf. 
One of them w r as a magnificent animal, much larger than a 
fallow-deer ; and as he trotted at his ease along the valley, 
they admired his stately looks, and grieved that so fine a 
race should be nearly extinguished. As they had all guns, 
there was a momentary temptation to fire; but the Colonel 
shook his head, and would not allow them to meddle with 
the noble creatures: and on they -went, looking at the 
trout-pools in the valleys, and the haunts of the grouse on 
the moors, and hearing abundance of sportsmanlike talk : 
while the guns were often put in requisition, and the bags 
were soon well charged with game. At one spot, a fa¬ 
vourite setter-dog made a dead halt, and pointed with such 
a look of earnestness and consequence, that the Colonel 
predicted something extraordinary; and accordingly out 
flew a large bittern from a reedy pool, and was laid low in 
a moment by his gun. The quantity of birds astonished 


78 


CONNAUGHT. 


Vergos; and still further to excite liis admiration, the 
Colonel, on their return to the galley, ordered his men, as 
the afternoon was fine, to round the southern extremity of 
the Mullet, and run towards Inniskea. As to landing at 
this wild spot, he had no thought of it: in the calmest 
weather it is dangerous: hut he wished our travellers to 
see the numerous tribes of birds which inhabit the pro¬ 
montories. While gazing upwards, a very small floating 
substance shot out suddenly from the rocky shore, and as 
it came nearer, they perceived it to be Nora in her cor- 
ragli, fishing for codlings and gunners. 

“ If I really wanted to land,” observed the Colonel, “ I 
should get into Nora’s vessel: it would take me on shore 
as quickly and safely again as any of the boats you see.” 
And while he was speaking, Nora came up, offering her 
services. “ No, thank you,” said the Colonel: “we are go¬ 
ing back immediately ;—but, stay: now I think of it, I 
want my servant to speak to one of the islanders: we will 
wait, if you will take him and the man sprang into this 
little ark, and was at the shore in a trice. He soon re¬ 
turned, bringing with him some fresh cod and lobsters. 
Meanwhile, the party had been admiring the bold head¬ 
lands, and the numerous birds and animals that tenanted 
them. They could well conceive, that the riches of these 
islands were considerable. The plenty of fish, fowl, and 
rabbits, (which are remarkably fine ones,) and the excel¬ 
lent firing, also the quantity of pasture-land, which enables 
the islanders to cultivate the breed of sheep, render them 
altogether more independent than the natives of such is¬ 
lands often are: but, on the other hand, nothing beyond 
the produce of the island can be procured for the winter- 
months : and, even in summer, the priest who would visit 
his flock in Inniskea, is obliged to watch his opportunity 
carefully. The experience of the natives enables them to 


THE JOURNEY PURSUED. 


79 


detect the approach of a storm; and at a moment’s notice, 
he is hurried away, or must abide where he is for weeks, 
perhaps. 

It is a very remarkable thing, that these dangerous 
spots are often selected by the Irish as cemeteries; and 
hence, a burial is often attended with the peril of many 
lives. They will keep the corpse unburied till the last mo¬ 
ment, in hopes of an abatement of a tempest; and often 
embark it, when the voyage cannot be undertaken without 
infinite hazard. Fortunately, our travellers saw the coast 
at a favourable moment, and returning home to the Colo¬ 
nel’s hospitable abode, finished the evening with much 
mirth and good cheer ; remembering, not without regret, 
that they were to part on the mrorow. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE JOURNEY PURSUED. 


Sligo is a beautifully situated town. The Bay, opening 
to the north-west, is enclosed between fine lofty banks; 
and the river flowing through the town, is also richly 
adorned with wood and hill, and soon after swells out in¬ 
to a fine lake, called Loch Gilly. At Sligo, Vergos and 
his friend halted two days; and they found plenty to see 
and to interest them. They were surprised to see the 
bustle and traffic in this town. They learned that its ex- 



80 


CONX AUGHT. 


ports were steadily increasing; and that larger and larger 
quantities of grain, butter, pork, &c., are every year 
shipped from this port; that the timber-trade was also 
flourishing, and a constant interchange of commodities 
kept up with the Baltic; but that there were no manu¬ 
factures in the place. They found, among the buildings, 
two Protestant churches, and many benevolent institu¬ 
tions, and three good libraries. The tenantry around 
Sligo, they learnt, comprised a good many Protestants, 
brought here by the Protestant landholders in the neigh¬ 
bourhood ; and the general appearance of the people was 
less Irish. Many wealthy and educated families reside 
in the neighbourhood, partly attracted by the extreme 
beauty of the scenery ; and the whole appearance of the 
country gives one the idea of improvement and prosperity. 
Our friends took boat at Sligo, and having sufficiently ad¬ 
mired the beauties of the river scenery, entered the lovely 
Loch Gilly, which Arthur said he was disposed to consider 
one of the most beautiful scenes in Ireland, even though 
he had visited Ivillarney. It is only about eight miles 
long, in breadth never exceeds two : but the richness and 
undulation of its banks, and its twenty-three wooded is¬ 
lands, render every thing the eye takes in as perfect as 
scenery of a like character can be. Here the vast ever¬ 
greens, as fine as Vergos had seen in Spain, grew and 
flourished. Arbutus, laurels and bays were trees of enor¬ 
mous size and consequence: large oaks and elms, ashes 
and limes, threw their shade over the waters, and at every 
sweep of the boat, called forth some exclamation of ad¬ 
miration from those who had so lately travelled over the 
woodless mountains of Cunnemara : the contrast, indeed, 
was so striking as often to arouse Arthur’s lamentations 
over the devastations which had stripped his native coast 
ot its glory. “We have fixed, you know,” said he, to 


THE JOURNEY CONTINUED. 


81 


Vergos, “ that our excursion should he confined to Con¬ 
naught ; and I therefore shall not have an opportunity of 
showing you any nearer approaches to prosperity and ci¬ 
vilization than you have seen to-day. We shall get back 
to the mere Irish, you will find, as we proceed; but while 
we are in Roscommon, you will see the same appearances 
as you have observed to-day. To-morrow w r e shall have 
Loch Arrow and Boyle, and Rockingham House, which, 
alone, is worth coming many miles to see; but still, it is 
not decidedly Irish." 

“ But it is a splendid place,” thought Vergos, as the next 
day they stood beneath the marble portals of Lord Lor- 
ton’s princely abode. They had passed through the pretty 
town of Boyle, and visited the ruins of its Abbey: and 
now, when they had rowed up Loch Key, and surveyed its 
v r ooded islands, and landed at the smooth sloping lawn on 
which the edifice is situated, they were struck with the 
quietness of the -whole scene. There is one remarkable 
peculiarity about this mansion :—the offices are mostly co¬ 
vered over, and subterranean passages are carried from 
them to the lake, and, in another direction, to the stables, 
so that servants, and people of business, are not seen hur¬ 
rying to and fro; but the quiet of the place is perfectly 
preserved. Another remarkable particular is, that the 
house is built of marble from a quarry on Lord Lorton’s 
estate. And now they turned their heads a little north¬ 
wards, towards Loch Allen ; remarkable, chiefly, for being 
the source of the noble river Shannon, which they were 
to follow as long as it was a boundary to Connaught. 
Vergos had heard so much of this river, that he had long 
been anxious to behold it: he knew that it possessed the 
singular character, (singular, at least, among rivers of the 
old world,) of being navigable from its mouth to its source, 
a distance of two hundred and thirty-four miles. He knew 


G 


82 


CONNAUGHT. 


that it expanded in several places into noble lakes; and 
was capable, through a good part of its course, of 
bearing vessels of four hundred tons burden;—that it 
carried wealth and commerce along with it, through 
ten Irish counties; and was, beyond all comparison, 
the finest river in the British dominions. 

“There it is!” exclaimed Arthur, jumping to the 
ground and bending, as if in reverence to the stream :— 

“ there goes the noble Shannon ! I have seen many a 
broad river since I beheld it, but never one I love so well. 
O, how glad I am to be here again!—But this is nothing, 
Vergos—nothing at all. You will see, as you go on, what 
the Shannon really is, when it has escaped from the influ¬ 
ence of that sleepy parent lake. You see,” he continued, 

“ there is not much that is attractive in the scenery here ; 
but I could not but show you the source of our great river. 
Now we must take a southerly direction, and accompany 
the Shannon so long as it favours Connaught with its pre¬ 
sence, which is as far as Lough Derg. My proposal is, that 
we send our horses on to Galway, and take our chance of 
conveyances there. I should like to take, for at least a 
couple of days, a voyage on the Shannon ; and if your pa¬ 
tience holds out, even to follow it through Lough Derg to 
Ivillaloe, halting on the way where we please. In this voy¬ 
age you will see more than half the course of our Shan¬ 
non, and a very large tract of country also.” 

To this arrangement Yergos readily assented. Direc¬ 
tions were given to the servant who accompanied them, 
and they engaged an experienced boatman with a capital 
boat. From Loch Allen to Leitrim, the little capital of 
the country, they found nothing to interest them, nor till 
they reached Carrick. Here the country improved ; and 
as they further descended to James Town, it became very 
interesting. From this place to Atldone the river range, 


THE JOURNEY CONTINUED. 


83 


through the smaller Lochs of Bodarig and Boffin, was 
strikingly fine. From Richmond Bar, their next re¬ 
markable point, a canal has been cut (about ninety miles) 
to Dublin. And when they halted at Lanesboro’, Yergos 
was informed that, from that place to Athlone, a distance 
of twenty-one miles, they would be employed in traversing 
Loch Rea, another and larger expansion of the Shannon; 
but Arthur thought it worth while to digress about three 
miles from the river’s banks to visit Roscommon, the prin¬ 
cipal town of the county bearing this name; and accordingly 
they hired a car for the purpose: there was not much, in¬ 
deed, to claim their attention. The cathedral, originally a fine 
Gothic building, though now merely a parish-church, was 
however an interesting object: but a more curious one to 
our travellers was the tomb of Phelim O’Connor, an ancient 
King of Connaught, well preserved in the ruins of the Do¬ 
minican Friary. The soil hereabouts was fertile, and the 
stock on the farms appeared numerous and good. Instead 
of halting for the night at Lanesboro’, as had been at first 
proposed, our travellers slept at Roscommon, returning to 
Lanesboro’ early in the morning, and again entering 
their boat, were launched upon Loch Rea. Happily the 
weather was fine. The islands on this lake added greatly 
to the beauty and interest of the scene. Among the rest, 
Incliturk, and Inchmore, each of them large enough to be 
well cultivated, and to be the site of capital houses, at¬ 
tracted their attention. Although, however, the villas, 
the woods, and the corn-fields afforded undisputed marks 
of the care of man, it was with a feeling of melancholy 
that Arthur pointed out to his companion the absence of 
brisk and stirring signs of business on this vast expansion 
of the river; for Arthur had been on the Clyde, and had 
seen the busy vessels plying incessantly to and fro; and 
though he loved the solitude of fine scenery, he knew it 

g 2 


84 


CONNAUGHT. 


was a bad sign, tliat so little use was made in his own 
country of so great an advantage. True, there was a 
steam-vessel; but it was a solitary thing, moving like a 
single caravan in the desert. Loch Rea is, in some places, 
a broad expanse of water, branching far to the left; but 
through part of its course, is contracted to river-breadth. 
Its waters are, in some places, very deep;—about one 
hundred and eight feet: in others, they diminish to ten or 
eleven feet; but it is everywhere navigable for vessels of 
considerable size. The river at Atlilone is three hundred 
yards wide; but both above and below the town, the navi¬ 
gation is connected for a short distance by canals, on ac¬ 
count of some rapids, which present a difficulty in the way 
of the passage of the vessels. 

It was hardly to be expected, that very picturesque scen¬ 
ery should be found below this point; for it was evident 
that our travellers were now approaching the Lowlands; 
and accordingly, soon after leaving Atlilone, which is an 
ugly, though a populous and busy town, they found them¬ 
selves winding along with the broad and brimful river, 
through low, brown, boggy lands :—a duller prospect could 
not well be seen. To the left, as they descended the 
stream, lay the Bog of Allen, and the Bogs of Galway 
were on the right. The former, as our readers will find 
on reference to the map, forms no inconsiderable portion 
of the King’s County in the Province of Leinster; and 
being out of the district of Connaught, did not come within 
the boundaries of our Spaniard’s present journey. Never¬ 
theless Yergos, having heard much of this most celebrated, 
because largest, of the Irish. Bogs, looked upon it with 
some interest. In fact, it extends through great part of 
the centre of Ireland, though partially reclaimed, and na¬ 
turally intersected by belts of gravel and arable land. As 
the eye roamed over this brown, unproductive waste, and 


THE JOURNEY CONTINUED. 


85 


then rested on the miserable hovels which bordered it, it 
was impossible not to feel how useful and easy it would 
be to convert the former into a source of employment and 
comfort for the inhabitants of the latter. 

“Surely,” said Vergos, “the nation that has given 
twenty millions to rescue its African subjects from slavery 
might do something to reclaim three millions of acres from 
the waste—to give bread and peace to its own afflicted 
people!” 

While making their observations on this desolate coun¬ 
try, (not the less desolate, because they passed by the way 
the ruins of seven ancient churches,) they came to the 
part of the river called Shannon Harbour, from whence 
another grand canal, seventy-eight miles in length, is car¬ 
ried to Dublin ; and a regular daily communication is es¬ 
tablished, which is also connected with the steam-naviga¬ 
tion of the Shannon to Limerick. The river, soon after 
this, is divided into a number of branches by many islands 
of various sizes : and this continues, after passing through 
Banagher, a small, but increasing town. A few miles be¬ 
low this place, the boatman pointed out the fine ruins of 
Meelek Monastery on the Galway side : excepting these, 
there was scarce any thing deserving of notice. The river 
spread itself through vast low meadows, which are always 
overflowed during winter; but, in summer, furnish rich 
pasturage to innumerable herds of cattle: and Vergos 
said, this part of the voyage reminded him forcibly of the 
banks of the Guadalquiver between Seville and Cadiz. 
From Banagher to Portumna our voyagers availed them¬ 
selves of the accommodation of a steam-vessel, being tired 
of their slow course ; and finding the accommodations com¬ 
fortable, and the weather likely to be showery, engaged 
their passage the whole way to Mount Shannon, thirty 
miles; twenty of these being occupied by Lough Derg. 



86 


CONNAUGHT. 


Having so lately seen Loch Rea, they were perhaps the less 
struck with Lough Derg; which though bordered by an in¬ 
teresting, fertile, hilly, and woody country, is not sublime or 
romantic. They were principally struck with the numerous 
villas and pleasure-grounds throughout this part of their 
course; the green lawns, the cultivated shrubberies, re¬ 
flected in the blue waters, themselves sprinkled with is¬ 
lands. Here, while Connaught still bounded their view on 
the right hand, Munster was on the other. Munster, the 
richest of countries in deep and noble woods. Mount 
Shannon, where they had agreed to leave the river, now 
presented itself;—a pretty village on the Galway side, 
boasting accommodation for summer residents ; and com¬ 
manding a lovely view of the Lake and of Holy Island, on 
which is one of the round towers of Ireland. Near this 
village was the residence of a gentleman, to whom Ar¬ 
thur’s father had given them a letter of introduction, 
which procured them every civility and kindness ; and in 
the society of a most amiable family, and surrounded by 
every thing beautiful and luxurious, they were tempted to 
prolong their stay for two nights : nor were they sorry to 
be on shore when, on the second of these nights, the wind 
suddenly rose to a perfect hurricane; and they saw the 
waters of Lough Derg agitated, if not to an alarming, yet 
to a very uncomfortable degree, for those who might hap¬ 
pen unfortunately to be voyagers. The next morning, 
however, was bright and balmy : their host furnished them 
with a car across the country to Lochcree, a small town, 
only renowned for its being in the neighbourhood of a ru¬ 
ined abbey. This part of the way had much that it was 
painful to contemplate. The country was poorly culti¬ 
vated, the cabins wretchedly mean ; the cottagers them¬ 
selves destitute of comfort, and almost of necessaries. 
There was little to invite our travellers to halt; and ac~ 


GALWAY. 


87 


cordingly they pushed on as rapidly as the ordinary ve¬ 
hicle procured at Lochcree, allowed, in their course to¬ 
wards Galway. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

GALWAY. 

Arthur had not told his friend of the traces which he 
would find in Galway of its Spanish origin; and it amused 
him, to see how involuntarily Vergos seemed to find him¬ 
self at home, and how frequently he seemed to make an 
effort to recollect that lie was in a foreign land. When 
they arrived at the house of Mr. Connor, the gentleman by 
whom they had been expected for the last few days, Ver¬ 
gos instantly pointed out the Spanish peculiarities of the 
mansion. They passed under a sculptured gateway to a 
large inner court: they entered a large door, and ascended 
a broad and heavy-looking flight of stairs. They even saw 
a small sliding pannel or wicket, in one of the doors on the 
landing, cautiously -withdrawn, and caught a glimpse of a 
pair of laughing black eyes, surveying the strangers as 
they mounted. By and by, when they had gained the re¬ 
ception-room, and looked from the windows toward the 
market-place, they saw a host of friars, in their appropriate 
costume, mingled with the crowd ; women, in brown jack¬ 
ets and red petticoats, but without shoes or stockings; 



88 


CONNAUGHT. 


their black, glossy hair, dark eyes, and bright complexions, 
giving them an appearance, however, of intelligence. 
Fishermen were there bringing up their commodity, and, as 
soon as sold, departing with a business-like air, and a total 
lack of interest in the discourse and doings of the towns¬ 
people. A few Sisters of Charity patrolled the ways :—a 
nunnery and convent rose in view; with Catholic chapels 
in various directions. This was Galway. It required an 
effort still to think themselves in Ireland ; but that effort 
was aided by the entrance of their host, a true-born Irish¬ 
man, who made them welcome with all the gentlemanly 
frankness of one of the old school, introducing them to a 
lady-like matron, his wife, and to his only daughter, a 
damsel of twelve years old, whose black eyes had, as above 
related, taken cognizance of them from the wicket. Of 
this fact her father was not aware, till he saw her con¬ 
scious look, when in allusion to the resemblance of Galway 
to his native town of Seville, Vergos mentioned the wick¬ 
et of observation: but then the host glanced at his child, 
shook his head at her, and said, “ 0, Dora, you have been 
at your post again ! I must apologise,” continued he, 
“ for the impertinence of this little damsel.” 

u But I assure you, gentlemen,” said his wife, a your 
vanity must not be flattered by it: her glances were not 
directed in anticipation of your coming, I have reason to 
know; but of the arrival of a favourite little playfellow, 
for whom she has been looking all the morning. I have 
not been able to keep her from the wicket since break¬ 
fast.” 

“ Mamma, here she comes ! here is Grace !” exclaimed 
the child, as a beautiful girl, a perfect contrast to herself— 
light, fair, and flaxen,—bounded into the room, and sprang 
towards Dora, regardless of visitors. “ How late you are, 


GALWAY. 


80 

Grace!” exclaimed her friend: “I thought you had for¬ 
gotten it was my birth-day.” 

“ Papa was so poorly, I could not come sooner, indeed ; 
and I had to go this morning, with nurse, to the Claddagh 
for him, before I could get ready to come.” 

“To the Claddagh ! What, does your papa let you go to 
the Claddagh ;—all among the fishermen and their wives ? 
—I should be cpiite afraid !” 

“ Oh, you need not be afraid : the Claddagh people are 
very civil, when you visit them, though they live so en¬ 
tirely among themselves. Papa lias several very good 
friends there ; and as he was too ill to go this morning, ho 
wished me to call and hear how the poor little boy was, 
who was so nearly drowned yesterday : and I saw him, 
and he is almost well. Ilis mother is such a nice woman: 
she spins or makes nets all-day: and though she is a 
widow, she is not suffered to be in want. Her eldest son 
is a boat-builder, and he brings home all his money to his 
mother ; and this little lad is to be a fisherman, and goes 
out already every day with a neighbour.” 

“ Will he not be afraid to go, now ?” asked Dora. 

“ No; he told me not: he said he hoped he should soon 
learn to swim, and tliefi he should not mind it, if he did 
fall into the water again. The old fisherman who takes 
him out, was very much distressed, indeed, at the acci¬ 
dent ; and could hardly speak to the mother, when he 
brought the boy home. I did not stay long, because I saw 
brother John coming to see them ; and papa does not wish 
me to talk with the friars.” 

“ Your papa goes to the Claddagh often when he is well, 
I believe, my dear, himself,” said Mr. Martin. 

“ Yes ; he used to go very often; and the poor people 
seemed to like to see him : but he could not do what he 
wished. lie found the children had no school, and that 


90 


CONNAUGHT. 


they grew up very ignorant; and he wanted much to have 
had such a school as the friars and priests would not have 
objected to ; but they were afraid of him, I believe ; and 
he could not persuade them to help ; nor could he get any - 
of the fishermen to send their children to school in the 
town.” 

“I dare say you are aware, Mr. O’Ryan,” said their host, 
jC of the peculiar way of life of our Galway fishermen. 
They are not so entirely independent a people as they were; 
for they used to have a mayor and laws of their own, and 
our magistrates found it scarce possible to penetrate into 
their little kingdom, which was a better kind of Alsatia : 
but now they are under the general government of our 
laws in every thing that does not immediately concern the 
fishing; there they still make and follow their own by¬ 
laws : and I have always found them an industrious, well- 
behaved race, though very unsocial in their dealings with 
the townspeople. I do not believe an instance has yet 
occurred of the Claddagh settlers marrying out of their 
own community.” 

u I have often talked of them with our Clifden fishers,” 
said Arthur. “ In fact, you know they are all connected ; 
for our bays, as far as the Killeries, are all under the same 
regulations. I think we reckon about a thousand boats to 
be employed, and the number is increasing, I am told.” 

“ You have not told me what are the fish chiefly taken,” 
said Yergos, “ on this coast.” 

“ Haddock, cod, herring and bream. The herring-fishery 
on our coast is terribly hard duty: the men are not 
allowed to drop their nets till the sun has set, and they 
must take them up again at sunrise. This is a wise and 
necessary law, for it is well ascertained that one single 
day's fishing would entirely frighten a shoal of herrings off 
the coast. You may imagine, so suddenly as the winds 


GALWAY. 


91 


spring up along our stormy coast, that the nets will often 
be dropped in vain. Terrible gales may come on by 
morning, and as the temptation of gain to a fisherman is 
very strong under such circumstances, very many boats are 
lost every season. They are certainly far from expert 
fishermen, or even boatmen, but this is a good deal owing 
to their poverty, which disables them from procuring pro¬ 
perly stout and w r ell-rigged vessels, suited to so dangerous 
a coast; and they have little or no patronage or assistance. 
It is a curious fact that although the most productive 
whales (spermaceti and Greenland) abound at no great 
distance from the coast, the fishers have, till lately, been 
almost ignorant of the circumstance, and unable to avail 
themselves of it. They have never, indeed, taken the 
benefit of these visits except when one of the monsters 
of the deep was accidentally drifted on shore; and then, 
through their bad management, half of the oil has been lost. 
There can be no doubt, however, that, if Government 
thought proper to encourage it, a whale-fishery might be 
carried on here to great advantage.” 

“ But, sir,” said Arthur, “ I think Government has in¬ 
terfered in former times, though unsuccessfully, to promote 
the whale-fishery in the North” 

u True ; I think it was in 1763 that the Irish Parliament 
granted £1500 to Messrs. Thomas and Andrew Nesbitt, 
great speculators in the fishing-trade, in the county of 
Donegal. But that it did not succeed, I believe, was 
owing to the imperfection of their knowledge and skill. 
A different mode of using the harpoon is necessary in 
our northern seas to that in use on the Greenland coast, 
the water being in general so much more rough. But I still 
repeat, I have no doubt that much might now be done 
with the whale-fishery, if it were properly supported. As 
it is, the expense and losses of the smallest fishing-boats 


92 


CONNAUGHT. 


are often great.—It is reckoned that the boat, with oars 
and ropes costs from £8 to £10; this is generally held in 
partnership by four persons, who have afterwards each to 
provide a share of net, perhaps costing from three to four 
guineas. When storms come on, the nets get entangled: 
whoever comes first, cuts away in order to save his own, 
and get free as quickly as he can; and thus many are 
spoiled and damaged. With all this, the trade is pretty 
good, and they clear sometimes from £7 to £20 per man 
in a season by the herring alone: but, you know, the 
herring is always a capricious visitant. Sometimes, for ten 
years together, they almost desert a coast; then they re¬ 
turn for as many years, or more.” 

“ My dear,” said Mrs. Connor, “ I believe the gentlemen 
would rather discuss fish over our dinner-table, than in 
the drawing-room, at present.” 

“By all means. We will adjourn sight-seeing till to¬ 
morrow morning ; when, if Signor Yergos pleases, we can 
visit the Claddagh, and all our other curiosities. You will 
find lodging-rooms, gentlemen, prepared for you ; and 
your horses are safe in my stable, We have been looking 
for you these two days,” he added ; “ and your man-ser¬ 
vant was in despair, and half inclined to run over the 
mountains to Cunnemara to proclaim the fact of your non- 
appearance ; but I laid forcible hands upon him and de¬ 
tained him, together with a countryman of his, who lias 
been sent here for safety by your father. By the bye, 
O’Ryan, there is no occasion for any uneasiness about 
him, for he has fully determined on going to Canada by a 
vessel which sails in a few days. He finds many Galway 
friends are emigrating; and, having no particular ties to 
your country, he has been readily induced to join a party. 
I persuaded him not to go back to sell his cabin and bit of 
land ; but let your father transact the business for him,— 


GALWAY. 


93 


which, indeed, was soon effected, for your father imme¬ 
diately sent me the man’s full demand, taking- the con¬ 
cern into his own hands. But I am detaining you. The 
dinner-bell will ring, I believe, in a few minutes. The ser¬ 
vant will now show you your rooms.” 

"When Vergos and his friend descended to the dining¬ 
room they found the party enlarged by the addition of a 
gentlemanly-looking Catholic priest, the family confessor, 
for Mr. Connor was a Catholic. A Galway merchant, also, 
one of his neighbours, had joined them; and there was no 
lack of conversation, or of spirit in maintaining it, notwith¬ 
standing that it appeared the party was divided both in 
religious and political faith. In Galway the preponderance 
of Catholics is so great, and the wealth and education is so 
equally distributed among the higher orders of both re¬ 
ligions, that they have, by common consent, sunk their 
differences, and live together in great harmony. There is 
no great refinement, and little literary taste, in the place ; 
but the people are hospitable, indeed somewhat too hos¬ 
pitable, encouraging each other to live beyond their means, 
and keep very luxurious tables. It was with no little dif¬ 
ficulty that our friends escaped a longer sojourn over the 
bottle than would have been agreeable to them, and made 
their way to the drawing-room, which the merry sound of 
childish voices rendered very pleasant;—nor were they 
above contributing their share to the fun which was going 
on there. 

The day was Saturday; and Dora’s young friend re¬ 
minded her that she must take early leave, for papa had 
always a little more business on Saturday night, and 
would not like her to be away. When she was gone, Mrs. 
Connor told the gentlemen that she was the daughter of 
an English clergyman, now in declining health; that her 
mother was already dead, and she had no relation in this 


94 


CONNAUGHT. 


part of the world. The prospect for the poor child, she 
said, was a very distressing one. She did not think the 
father would ever recover : he was one of the most indus¬ 
trious curates in the diocese, and the most respected ; hut 
he was very poor. The rector was himself unable to collect 
his dues, and could afford to give but little to the curate ; 
and what would become of his daughter when he died, she* 
could not tell. The difference in their religious faith, she 
added, alone prevented her offering to bring her up as her 
own child with Dora, for she knew the curate would 
never consent to giving her into a Catholic family; but, 
whatever plan was proposed she would always gladly con¬ 
tribute any thing in her power to the child’s maintenance 
or education. 

The priest, who had joined the party, bore a willing testi¬ 
mony to the excellent character of the Protestant curate, 
and expressed his hopes that a provision would be secured 
for his orphan, if it pleased God to remove the father. 

Young O’Ryan was benevolent by nature, and strongly 
and deeply interested, as a Protestant, in the fortunes of a 
clergyman of his church. He made little observation on 
what he heard : but the next morning, while Mr. Connor 
was occupied in showing his friend the docks and mer¬ 
cantile buildings of Galway, he resolved to call on Mr. 
Eustace. He found him a middle-aged man, of mild but 
fervent demeanour ; unobtrusive in his conversation, but 
full of his pastoral work, and scarcely able as yet to argue 
himself into submission to the dispensation which had 
broken off all his plans of spiritual usefulness. He seemed 
little infected with the spirit of party, though zealously 
attached to the doctrines and discipline of his church. He 
complained that so much time was wasted in Ireland, 
even by clergymen, in matters not strictly belonging to 
their holy office, and wished some method could be 


GALWAY. 


95 


adopted of supplying the reasonable wants of the Protes¬ 
tant clergy, which should not oblige them to have any 
thing to do in collecting their own incomes. 

“ Ah, sir !” said he to Arthur, “you are young, and 
may have many opportunities of bearing your testimony 
to the state of things in this country: let me entreat you 
to hear the voice of a Christian minister, who must soon 
render up his account, warning you against this fatal, 
dreadful spirit of party, which prevents so many here 
from seeing and knowing the truth even of what passes 
before their eyes. Do not let one set of men convince 
you that it is a matter of indifference whether w T e 
are of one faith or another; do not be blinded to the 
immense value of freedom from degrading superstition 
and spiritual bondage; but neither let any sophistry, or 
the power of any example, lead you to do injustice to 
the Catholic in order to promote the Protestant cause; 
—I know both these snares, and have with difficulty 
steered my course. May you be enabled to do better 
than I have done !” 

Arthur adverted to the violent method taken by some 
of the clergy to recover their tithes. 

“ Talk not of it!” said Mr. Eustace, writhing under the 
painful recollection. “ I have no w r ords strong enough to 
express my sense of the injury such conduct is doing to 
the cause these gentlemen were sent here to serve. I 
bless my God I am but a curate ;—and yet, when I look 
at my child, shall I own to you, sir, that my heart some¬ 
times sinks. I could wish, having spent my strength in 
the work, that it were in my power to make some small 
provision for her. But, alas ! I have no more than will 
just support me now ; and to lay by is impossible. I 
have even been unable to effect any insurance of my life, 
as I could not pay the annual premium. However, I 


CONNAUGHT. 


96 * 

know I am in the hands of the best of masters ; and the 
kindness I receive from the people of this place I cannot 
describe.” 

Arthur left this worthy man considerably touched by 
the interview, and privately resolved to interest his sister 
in little Grace. “ She is so fond of children,” thought he ; 
perhaps she would even like to have her live with her and 
my father at Ardbear : at all events, I am sure she will do 
something for her. And Arthur shook hands with the 
little girl, and asked her if she would like one day to 
come into Cunnemara. 

“ What, that wild country over the mountains, where 
king Joyce lives !” 

“ The same : and remember, Grace, some people would 
frighten you about the Claddagh; and yet, you see, it is 
all nonsense. You can go and come very safely, and so 
it might be in Cunnemara. I have a sister there, who is 
very comfortable and happy.” 

“ Oh ! if your sister lives there, I am sure I should not 
be afraid;—but will papa go ?” 

“ I fear not, my dear ;—he seems very ill!” 

<c Yes, poor papa; but, perhaps, in the summer he will 
be better, and then I will be sure to ask him.” 

Yergos, meantime, had visited the fishermen’s town. 
He was much interested by the Claddagh, as it is called, 
which is situated quite apart from Galway, to the right of 
the harbour. Streets and lanes, and squares, and rows of 
cabins met his eye in every direction,—the abodes of at least 
seven thousand fishermen; and most of these were decent¬ 
ly furnished,—far superior to the country cabins he had 
hitherto seen. It was pleasant to see the industry of these 
people ; all the women were as busy in their departments 
as the men, making and mending nets, or spinning; no 
loungers about the doors,—all at work and active. Surely 


Galway. 


97 


that is no just accusation which alleges that the Irish are 
incurably lazy. 

The Bay of Galway is safe and capacious ; it is divided 
from that of Ardbear by a vast ledge of rocks, called Slive 
Head; on the other side, in the distance, are seen the soft 
blue mountains of Clare, while the entrance of the bay is 
guarded by the rocky Isles of Arran. These isles are 
inhabited partly by fishermen, whose little rude barks, 
called corragks , may be seen paddling about. On the 
south coasts, upon which Galway looks, are bold cliffs, 
abounding in puffins, on whose eggs the poor inhabitants 
live in times of great scarcity, such as have happened at 
no very distant interval of time. As there is no town of 
importance east of Galway for many miles, the place is 
one of increasing wealth and business. It exports largely 
wdieat, oats, and flour, and has many corn-stores and mills. 

It was not a very inviting day when our travellers set out 
on their return homewards. They were now again about to 
enter the mountain land which they saw at a little distance 
before them; and Arthur O’Ryan, wishing to show his 
friend a little more of the interior of these Highlands, 
proposed taking a more circuitous road than that which 
leads across Cunnemara to Clifden. He preferred cross¬ 
ing Mam Turc, and descending, by the mountain paths, 
this fine pass into the western parts of Cunnemara. They 
reached the shores of Lough Corrib after riding about 
four miles. Here they might, if they pleased, have taken 
a boat and pursued their way to Ouchterard by water; 
but having so lately passed several days on the Shannon 
and its lakes, they preferred following the shores of this 
large expanse of water on horseback. The scenery of the 
lower part of Lough Corrib is not so striking as the 
upper; but it is a noble lake, being thirty-seven miles in 
length, and covering a space of 30,000 acres. It is pro- 


98 


CONNAUGHT. 


posed to connect these with Galway by a canal, by which 
means the great advantages of inland navigation would 
accrue to an extensive tract of country. It is studded 
with islands, varying in form and size, some affording 
pasture for sheep and cows, others bearing crops of pota¬ 
toes,—others, again, wholly barren. 

Mr. O’Ryan’s servant, an elderly man, pointed out 
many spots among these islands, and on the main land, 
which had served as places of retreat for suspected per¬ 
sons during the Rebellion of 1798. He told them he had 
been pressed into the service of the Government, (being a 
protestant,) as a volunteer ; and how he had been obliged 
to assist in hunting out these poor fugitives, a task which 
he had evidently performed very unwillingly. The wind 
blew cool and strong over the lake, and its weaves broke 
so roughly upon these islands, that it was observed it w r as 
hardly safe for the boats which here and there were plying 
between them ; and he did not doubt that there w r as 
something going on which required promptitude. 

“ Those are the very places,” said Arthur, pointing to 
the islands, a for the manufacture of c mountain dew 
here they can ship it off from one place to another so 
quickly and cunningly as to avoid detection; and here 
too, in the dead of the night, the potsheen can be dis¬ 
tributed through a very considerable range of country. 
But we are coming to Oucliterard.” 

Ouchterard, I must inform my reader, is a straggling 
little tewn, standing on the western side of Lough Corrib, 
and on the very boundary between Cunnemara and the 
lowlands. Some ruined castles are to be seen on the 
southern coast of the lake, and in the background a 
wavy outline of hills; but to the west rises the magnifi¬ 
cent Cunnemara range—the summits of the mountains 
veiled in clouds. There is a pretty stream tumbling over 



GALWAY. 


99 


rocks, aud making a succession of waterfalls above and 
through Ouchterard ; and near these is a cottage, the 
property of Mr. Martin of Galway, which he calls his 
gate-house, a road from this place passing through his 
estates to his dwelling for twenty-six Irish miles. 

“ Hoav large do you think this same parish of Ouchte¬ 
rard is, Vergos ?” asked Arthur O’Ryan, 

“ Indeed I have no idea.” 

“ It is thirty-three miles long, master,” said the man, 
“ and near fourteen broad.” 

“ And how many people, do you suppose, inhabit it ?” 

“ About nine thousand.” 

“ And how many protestants ?” 

The man could not but smile as he answered, “ From 
thirty to forty.” 

The stream which our travellers had been admiring 
looked so beautiful that Vergos Avas glad to find the road 
led by its side. As they proceeded it expanded into 
several small lakes; but after passing two or three of 
these, they turued off to the right, for it Avas Arthur’s 
desire to bring his friend to the head of Lough Corrib, 
where there is a single house, Avhich its owner has called 
by the grand name of Corrib-head Hotel, but by the 
natives is usually denominated Ma’am. Here they rested 
their horses for a while, and refreshed themselves by a 
very good dinner. Salmon, as usual,—salmon, the most 
plentiful of Cunnemara eatables,—and roasted kid : true 
mountain fare. 

The situation of this hotel, in the bosom of lofty moun¬ 
tains, is extremely fine, and Avants nothing but wood 
to make it as beautiful as it is grand. After dinner, 
again mounting their horses, they rode, still pursuing 
the shores of the lakes, to Cong, where are to be seen 
the ruins of an abbey, in Avhich Rodcric, an ancient king 


100 


CONNAUGHT. 


of Connaught, ended his days. His Majesty Roderic 
was a great man in his day : from being king only 
of Connaught, he was raised, for his own merits, to be 
king of all Ireland, and was renowned for chivalrous 
deeds. 

“We have now gone as far out of our road in this 
direction as will be worth while,” said Arthur, “ and we 
will bring you through our famous pass of Mam Turc into 
Cunnemara. But I must take you to a place where you 
will see both Loch Corrib and Loch Mask, only about a 
mile or two to our right. We shall then enter the barony 
of Ross.” Our travellers were, however, destined to see 
no more views this evening : the clouds, which had been 
gathering over head all day, now suddenly discharged 
torrents, and they had reason to be glad of their present 
shelter at Cong,—little inviting as were the in-door ac¬ 
comodations,—for the best inn was truly a miserable 
place. Yet, such as it was, here they were compelled to 
stay all night. It was a thatched building about thirty 
feet long by fifteen wide, and the space was divided into 
an outer and inner room on the ground-floor; above 
were two lodging-rooms ; and higher still a roosting-place 
for the fowls. The inner room of the ground-floor was 
furnished with two beds; but the floor itself was damp 
and dirty, and the room very dark. 

Arthur and his friend had travelled too many miles in a 
wild and uncivilized country, to distress themselves at 
the prospect of one uncomfortable night; but neither 
were much inclined to sleep. They prevailed on mine 
host to light a fire in this inner apartment, as the evening 
was really cold, and sat up late in discourse. It proved 
indeed that they were not to be in undisturbed possession 
of their apartment. Just as they had determined to lie 
down on the uninviting beds, a long lanky-haired Irish- 


GALWAY. 


101 


man put his head in at the door, and with a grin and a 
how asked “ if their Honors would be plased to let him 
mount the cockloft ?” the only means of ascent to which 
was by a ladder fixed in the travellers’ room. 

“ Oh, certainly, my good fellow ! Pray come in. What, 
I suppose you are the hostler here, are you not ?” 

“ I suppose I am, yer Honour; and proud I was to take 
care of yer Honour’s horse,—and a fine haste it is !” 

“Well, Pat, and you have a pretty place of it here, I 
dare say !” 

“ Not much of that, yer Honour, seeing the wages are 
nothing; and travellers like yer Honours are rare; hut 
I makes shift to live. I dare say,” he continued, waxing 
bolder, “ ye never seed anything so fine as the mountains 
here ! Isn’t it a glorious country ! Myself thinks some¬ 
times that the heavens above are proud at it; and the 
clouds they do like to come down and cover the top of Mam 
Turc ! Ye’ll spake a good word for us at Cong; for isn’t 
it an iligant room now ? and the master and all the people 
civil, —as they ought to be? Would yer Honours be 
wanting a taste of whiskey to-night !” he added in a 
wheedling tone. 

“ No thank you, Pat, we are going to bed, aed advise 
you to do the same.” 

“ Plase yer Honours,” said the man, turning back his 
head just as he had reached the last step of his ascent, 
“ I entirely forget the caves, —sure it would be a shame to 
leave the likes of them behind, and they the finest things 
in all Ireland!” 

“ Pat is not altogether wrong,” observed Arthur, after 
he had disappeared, “ you should see these caverns as you 
are here ; and it would be worth while staying an hour 
the longer in the morning.” So saying, he threw himself 
upon his couch, and Yergos followed his example, but 


102 


CONN-AUGHT. 


was not equally successful with his companion in courting 
sleep. First the loud nasal music overhead, from the 
sleeping Irishman, annoyed him, and soon after the cocks 
began to crow, and the hens to cluck, and dawn appeared. 
Yergos, tired of his vain attempts to sleep, rose from his 
comfortless bed and gently endeavoured to open the win¬ 
dow, in order to ascertain the state of the weather,—but 
this was a task too hard for him ; it was plain the window 
■was not made to open. Yergos next, fancying he heard 
some one stirring in the house, opened the door. The 
spectacle which presented itself was curious enough, it 
seemed as if all the other inhabitants of the tenement, in¬ 
cluding the pig, the ducks and geese, were gathered to- 
getliered pell-mell upon the floor. Legs and arms ap¬ 
peared in all directions ; but Vergos, desperate in his 
desires to breathe a better atmosphere, made his way as 
well as he could among them, and, careless of having 
aroused a chorus of gabbling ducks and geese, lifted the 
latch, and was in the morning air again. It was cold, no 
doubt, but bright, and a brisk walk among the mountains 
was no unpleasant ^ variety. He was not destined, how¬ 
ever, to walk in solitude : Pat, whom he had left, as he 
thought, enjoying most comfortable slumbers, had been 
awakened by the opening of the door, and now came 
running out of the house after him. His appearance was 
in character with the place,—without a hat, without shoes 
or stockings, his clothes hanging in tatters about him, yet, 
with a good-humoured grin, and that readiness to oblige 
in every way but by withholding the honour of his com¬ 
pany, which is so characteristic of the low Irishman. “May 
be yer Honour would like to see the caves,” said he, “ and 
indeed it might be as well, for the poor craturs are trouble¬ 
some in the day time.” 

“ Who do you mean by the poor craturs ?” 


GALWAY. 


103 


“ The beggars and the boys, sure, that wait for the 
quality at the caverns ! ” 

“Well, I will go with you.” 

“ Yer Honour’s right, no doubt. Pat Seevan’s the boy 
to show the caves, and no wonder, since he was born and 
bred close to them. And now where will I take yees first ? 
Och ! to the Pigeon-hole, of course !” and he led the 
way to the middle of a field covered over with masses of 
limestone, which looked exactly as if piled together pre¬ 
paratory to building some vast edifice, and were as smooth 
as if polished by art. Here is the entrance to the Pigeon¬ 
hole ; a broad dark well, in which thirty or forty steps, 
roughly hewn in the rock, lead down to a stream which 
flows under-ground through a series of long and very pic¬ 
turesque arches, till it rises into light, turns a mill, then 
buries itself again in the earth, and once more appearing 
as a broad, deep, crystal river, flows on till it falls into the 
lake. 

Cunning as Pat had been, it appeared that the customary 
guides to this cavern were not to be outdone. As Yergos 
approached, he had observed some most deplorable hovels 
built up against some of the masses of rock of which we 
have spoken, and out of these emerged first one shoal of 
half-naked urchins, then another, all crowding round him, 
and clamorous in their offers of service. 

“ Be asy now, ye unmannerly blackguards ! keep back! 
Don’t ye see the gentleman is under my pirtection !” ex¬ 
claimed Pat, laying about to right and left, with a strong 
hand ; but the boys, though dispersed for a moment, were 
not defeated,—fresh reinforcements joined them. If Yer¬ 
gos stooped to pick up a stone, a dozen were scrambling on 
the ground to save his Honour the trouble ; if a gate were 
to be opened, twenty rushed forward,—aad then each and 
every one claimed his reward. 


104 


CONNAUGHT. 


Yergos scattered liis small coins among them till lie 
had no more. “ My purse is empty,” said he to another 
applicant. 

“ Och sure, then, we know yer Honour’s joking. Isn’t 
it a gentleman’s purse, and don’t we know that a gentle¬ 
man’s purse can't be empty!” 

But now came up another person. It was a tall, hag¬ 
gard old woman, with a scarlet cloak thrown loosely round 
her, with long streaming white hair, and a lighted torch 
of hog-wood in each hand. As she came forward the hoys 
drew hack, and even Pat slunk on one side, as if conscious 
of his usurpations. She spoke sharply and vehemently to 
him in Irish, then turning to Yergos, “ Isn’t it a shame 
now, yer Honour,” said she, “ to cheat the siller from a 
poor widdee, as that blackguard, had luck to him, is after 
doing! Don’t he know that the Lord, long life to him, has 
set the cave to me,—to me, Winny O’Rei],—and haven’t I 
four pounds to pay for it; and what will I do to raise the 
money if every nigger comes, and get in afore me ?” 

“ Well, well, Winny,” said Pat, u ye know I never 
coined in the broad day ! hut his Honor was wakfu’ the 
morn, and I did not like to disturb ye !” 

“ I warrant ye ! Well, now be plased to go down the 
steps, and I follow arter !” 

Vergos did as she desired, arid soon found himself in 
darkness, while he heard the rolling stream' pursuing 
its way in the caverns, hut presently the old beldame’s 
torches threw their light on the scene, and soon also its 
singularity was increased by the glare from some bundles 
of straw, which she lighted and threw them blazing on 
the stream. Down they floated rapidly, and their light 
showed grottoes and arches sparkling with stalactites,— 
each light going out in the distance, like so many small 
tapers. After them followed Yergos, as fast as the slip- 


GALWAY. 


105 


pery stones would allow ; and as by degrees he approached 
daylight at the opposite extremity, flocks of wild-pigeons 
flapped their wings, and flew out of the cavern. No 
sportsman ever dares to meddle with these birds, the 
cavern being sacred ground ; and they are therefore tame 
as domestic pigeons. It was pleasant to emerge into the 
morning light; for now the sun was wholly risen, and his 
eastern beams spread beautiful light over Loch Corrib and 
its woody islands and barer rocks. Various ruins of cas¬ 
tles and abbeys lay in sight; and religious houses in Ire¬ 
land, however ruinous, are seldom deserted while a stone 
of the original building remains : often, when all trace of 
it is lost, the ground has not lost its sacred character. 
There are still carried the remains of the village dead ; the 
tottering wall itself mouldering to decay, is yet an un- 
violated sanctuary for those committed to its keeping. 

Vergos would have enjoyed a morning walk by the shore 
of Loch Corrib, but for the impossibility of freeing himself 
from his train of attendants. They did not clamour, but 
their starved and miserable condition annihilated all his 
pleasure. The cottagers on the shores of Loch Corrib 
are wretched beyond description. The cabins do not keep 
out the air ; are often unglazed, chimneyless, and the roofs 
admitting large glimpses of the sky above: it was a mi¬ 
serable spectacle. 

As he returned to Cong, Arthur came out to meet him, 
and finding his companion had already seen the caves, pro¬ 
posed that they should take the homeward path as soon as 
they had breakfasted. From an eminence about a mile 
from Cong, O’Ryan pointed out to his friend the striking 
view which might thence be seen. Lough Corrib to the 
south lay smooth as glass, reflecting her varied islands in 
her dark bosom. Lough Mask to the north spread forth 
her waters also : her woody islands having assumed all the 


106 


CONNAUGHT. 


rich tints of autumn : and to the west were seen the drip¬ 
ping sides of the snow-capped mountains glittering in the 
sun ; groups of mountain cattle were scattered about, and 
tliase were followed here and there by a gossoon, or a red- 
kyrtled damsel with her pail. 

“ The fords of Bealnabrack will be bad work for the 
horses after the rain, I was thinking, sir,” said the servant, 
coming up, u I suppose you would not like to turn up the 
new road ?” 

<c No, Stevens, I have set my heart on going this old 
way, once moreand here, climbing the pass of Man 
Cloughaloon, they had, for a lit tle time, no thought of any 
thing but the guidance of their horses ; for the ground 
was slippery, and it proved a difficult undertaking. At 
the end of the pass the Fords appeared ; where the stream, 
though not deep, rushed down with much noise, and ra¬ 
pidly. 

Yergos thought it required some courage to breast this 
brawling antagonist, when he found that they must ac¬ 
tually ride along it, and even in it, for several miles, in 
order to arrive at the pass of Mam Turc. But he soon 
found the horses were well trained, and not to be alarmed 
by the din of a noisy brook. 

“These streams, Mr. Arthur, are something like the 
Irishman, I can’t help thinking; they make a deal of 
noise about a small matter,”, said the servant; “ How this 
shallow water hisses and brawls at us.” 

“ I do not mind this part of the way,” observed Arthur; 
“ but I know Mam Turc will be difficult:” and so indeed 
it was : scarce any track was visible, as the mountains ab¬ 
ruptly rose before them, but round the shoulder of one of 
those mountains they were to wheel as best they might: 
and well it was that the horses were used to mountain 
travelling; for a single false step would probably have 


GALWAY. 


107 


been attended with very serious consequences. The sum¬ 
mit attained, however, and how richly were they repaid ! 
The broad Atlantic lay before them : the twelve pins 
of Bonabula with their many lakes; Derry Clare, Ben 
Gowr and Lettery Mountains, all exhibiting their fine out¬ 
lines. Ardbear, Clifden, the Ivilleries, all lay below them ; 
but they had yet to skirt lakes, and descend one or two 
passes, before they reached the high road. Nor was it 
until sun-set that they arrived at the hospitable door, 
which Yergos had learnt to consider as his Irish home. 





































MUNSTER 


[Counties—Six.] 


CORK. 

KERRY. 

LIMERICK. 


CLARE. 

TIPPERARY. 

WATERFORD. 





JOURNAL 


OF 


A TOUR IN MUNSTER. 


I left home, accompanied by my son, on the 16tli of 
June, 1835, with the intention of making a tour of some 
extent in the south of Ireland. I had heard of that coun¬ 
try, and longed to visit it from my very boyhood. I had 
read all that Miss Edgeworth has written on the subject; 
and, having sometimes employed poor Irish labourers in 
my fields, had amused and instructed myself by hearing 
their details of their home-life ; but I could not always 
trust these people : their wonderful address in finding out 
what it is you expect to hear them say; and their quickness 
in supplying, not the exact truth, but as much of it as they 
think will be acceptable, I have often observed : and thus, 
though I have always liked and been a friend to Paddy, I 
could not depend upon his statements. My son and I used 
to admire the content of these poor hay-makers: we gave 
them but low wages, because they earnestly begged for 
■work on any terms; and we found that we should really 
oblige them by giving to two the pay of one of our English 
labourers. Low as it was, however, they made it answer 
their purpose. They drank nothing but water from the 
spring, except when we, of the farm-house, brought them 
out a draught of milk, which was always thankfully ac- 



112 


MUNSTER. 


cepted, and they ate the very poorest fare. Potatoes were 
not in great plenty at this time in our neighbourhood, but 
they begged any of our refuse garden vegetables; and with 
these they used to mix up a dish which, I believe, would 
have been disdained by our poor. Sometimes, but rarely, 
they alforded themselves a piece of bacon. The only table 
luxury in which I ever saw them indulge, was eggs. An 
Irishman, high or low, has a natural relish for an egg: 
it is not prohibited diet at any time: the most rigid keepers 
of Lent contiive to maintain their strength by its means : 
and Irish housekeepers find in this article no inconsi¬ 
derable item of expense during the season of abstinence 
from meat. To return to our hay-makers. I believe they 
carried home with them the larger half of the wages they 
had earned with us. Some of them were going to Mun¬ 
ster, some to Connaught; but they would not expend much 
on the road. Till I went to Ireland, I did not know how 
this was managed ; but I found that they all begged their 
way back again; that they slept by the road-side or in 
out-door hovels, and seldom expended more than a very 
few pence during the whole journey. 

It was my intention, when I left Berkshire, to proceed 
to Milford Haven, and thence cross the Channel to Water¬ 
ford. From this purpose, I was, however, soon turned. 
In the coach by which we travelled to Oxford, was an intel¬ 
ligent man, who had, I found, visited several of the ports 
of Ireland in the course of the last year; and, by his urgent 
advice, I was induced to alter my plan in favour of the 
passage from Bristol to Cork. I had no particular wish to 
lengthen my land journey in England and Wales unneces¬ 
sarily, and when I found that the voyage, though longer, 
was little more expensive ; and that I should at once land 
at one of the most interesting points in Ireland, I gave up 
my first scheme, and took my place in the Bristol coach. 


MUNSTER. 


113 


I cannot give any account of the road to that ancient city, 
the greater part of the journey being performed in the 
night. My son and I felt little inclination to sleep, how¬ 
ever ; and we sometimes ventured to discuss our future 
plans, though in an under tone, for our companions were 
enjoying very peaceful slumbers, and we did not wish to 
awaken them. It was a calm, sweet summer night, but 
the breath of morning was, as is often the case at this time 
in the year, dewy and chill, and we were not sorry to see 
a good fire in the coffee-room in the hotel when, at six 
o’clock, we arrived at the end of this stage of our journey. 
I believe my young companion was much disappointed in 
his expectations relative to Bristol. What he had pic¬ 
tured to himself I cannot tell; but when he walked with 
me along the close narrow streets, and saw the multitudes 
of ill-favoured and ill-dressed people that thronged them, 
he could not help expressing his hope that we should not 
be obliged long to take up our residence there. His 
opinion altered as we took the direction of Clifton ; and 
when I brought him down to St. Vincent’s Rocks, and 
made him look at that very picturesque defile through 
which the river takes its way, he allowed it was indeed 
beautiful. We crossed the river, and wandered through the 
wood on the opposite bank; gathered in quantities the bee- 
orchis and man-orchis, and watched the vessels coming in. 
All this we did because I had ascertained that the steamer 
for Cork did not leave Bristol until the evening, and thus 
the day was before us. We also visited the Cathedral : 
there it was that we both stood and read that beautiful 
inscription by Mason on the tomb of his wife, which my 
children have often admired;— 

Take, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear.” 

But many are the young and promising whose mortal re- 

i 


114 


MUNSTER. 


mains have been committed to the tomb in this abode. 
Many a beautiful and interesting being has been brought 
to the neighbouring Hot Wells of Clifton, in the hope of 
recovery, when disease had nearly finished its work, and 
when there was but one step between the sufferer and the 
tomb. I could not pass from the lovely walks by the river¬ 
side to this last dwelling-place, without picturing to myself 
the many sorrowing parents and friends who had followed 
their beloved children or relatives along the path I was 
treading. “ And could there be opened before us the hearts 
of all these mourners,” I said to myself, “on which among 
them would the rays of comfort be seen to have de¬ 
scended ? Surely on those who had looked to a Father 
in heaven with meek submission—to those especially who 
had seen their beloved ones c die in the Lord.’ Is there 
any other consolation ? I know not any. Blessed for 
ever and ever be the Power which has given it.” 

■ ••••• 

Our steam-packet left Bristol at the appointed hour, 
and we took care to be in time, and to secure comfortable 
accommodation. It was a large, handsome vessel, well 
appointed, and capable of performing the voyage to Cork 
in thirty hours; at all events, it was rarely more than thirty- 
one or thirty-two hours. The night being calm, my son and 
I remained on deck to a late hour, and though both fresh¬ 
water sailors, the water was so smooth, that we felt no in¬ 
convenience for some hours from the motion of the vessel; 
yet I should say that the incessant jarring and straining 
and thumping of a steam-engine, when you are placed in 
its immediate neighbourhood, and without the possibility 
of escape, is, in itself, one of the most irritating of sounds 
and sensations to persons of excitable nerve. When at 
last we retired into our cabin, and I stretched myself on 
one of the sofas, I found it impossible to sleep : the qui- 


MUNSTER. 


115 


vering motion of every thing round me, and the regular 
recurrence of the thumps ; their dull, heavy, muffled sound, 
and the jarring sensation they sent through the head, 
seemed to me a worse evil than the tossings of a tempest. 
But then I knew not the voice or aspect of a tempest at 
sea, except by description. I lay awake, and my reveries 
would not have been unpleasant, but for the uncomfortable 
sensations above adverted to. The room was full of gen¬ 
tlemen passengers; some stretched, like myself, on the 
sofas and berths round the sides of the cabin ; others sit¬ 
ting round the table, and one or two alternately visiting 
the deck, and coming down to report progress; yet I was 
surprised at the stillness of the whole : it seemed as if we 
were getting on without the assistance of human aid or 
labour. I heard no trampling on deck: the mighty ma¬ 
chine seemed to be doing the whole work. 

We had a large party of ladies on board, but all was still 
in their apartment. Towards six o’clock in the morning, 
however, signs of greater activity appeared : the stewards 
and stewardesses were moving about, preparing coffee for 
those who called for it. The gentlemen, one by one, re¬ 
moved to the deck; and I found some of the ladies were 
early risers also : as for my son, he had fallen into a 
sound sleep, from which I did not like to arouse him; but 
putting on my cloak, I also mounted the deck, and found 
we had indeed made good progress. I could see the whole 
of the south, and part of the west coast of Pembrokeshire, 
left some miles behind, and we were now stretching in a 
south west direction for Ireland : we were no longer, in 
fact, in the Channel; we were on the verge of the Atlantic 
itself, where its big waves touch and meet those from St. 
George’s Channel. We now saw no land for about three 
hours in the direction towards which we were going ; but, 
by the end of that time, one blue mountain after another 

i 2 


110 


MUNSTER. 


began to appear. Then the nearer view came out more 
and more distinctly; the high, rich, woody hills, rising 
like an amphitheatre on each side the bay. The town of 
Cove spread over the steep terraced mountain on one side 
of the basin of the magnificent harbour. The wooded is¬ 
lands, farther on a broad river, sometimes divided by is¬ 
lands, sometimes spreading, lake-like, and forming a most 
secure inner harbour—land-locked, and calm, and deep. 
Higher up, by some miles, the city of Cork itself: it was 
beautiful, even in the distance, but certainly more so the 
nearer we approached. I cannot express my admiration 
of what I then saw. It would have been worth a voyage 
of tenfold length and multiplied inconvenience to approach 
these luxuriant shores. When fairly in the river, our at¬ 
tention was constantly called out by some new beauty: 
the van dings of the Channel disclosed something lovely 
every moment: at one time, a Gothic castle; at another, 
villas and groves, whose overhanging boughs swept the 
blue waters ; at another, a large nunnery ; at others, the 
villages of Passage and Black Bock. Last of all came we 
to Cork; and here, safely landed, and established at one of 
the handsomest hotels I ever visited, I bring- my third 
day’s wanderings to a close. 

CORK. 

Both my son and I were so well refreshed by an excel¬ 
lent night’s rest, so exhilarated by the thought of being in 
Ireland, that our morning meal, though we alone partook 
of it, was one of the merriest breakfasts I ever ate. We 
laughed over our little adventures in the packet; we went 
again, in memory, over the lovely scenery of the Coves ; 
and we made ourselves merry with the brogue of the 
waiter, though not openly, as his respectable appearance 


CORK. 


117 


convinced ns he would be much affronted if regarded in 
the light of a specimint of Munster Irish. Putting the 
brogue out of the question, his nationality was very per¬ 
ceptible in the lengthened and flowery answers he re¬ 
turned to our questions about the neighbourhood. The 
Irish are surely, the French excepted, the most wordy peo¬ 
ple in the world; but, having said this, I am bound to 
add, that the words, though superfluous, are infinitely more 
meaning, more calculated to awaken and arrest attention 
in the case of the Irish than of the French. A series of 
pictures are placed before us in the common course of an 
Irishman’s discourse, which, though not calculated to serve 
the purposes of an utilitarian, have their charm and their 
merit. “Thoughts that breathe and words that burn,” 
they certainly have in a remarkable degree. This, my 
first day’s impression, was yet more forcibly that of my 
last day: I cannot, therefore, hesitate in recording it. 

And now for the city of Cork. Every way it is pretty, 
picturesque, and even stately. Houses of all sizes, of all 
Styles of architecture, yet so built as to avoid the appear¬ 
ance of confusion : the surface extremely irregular, and 
the whole crowned by wooded heights. The streets of 
business are wide and fine: the public buildings, if not 
beautiful, are spacious and convenient; but there is an ab¬ 
sence of towers and spires, which, rising from a town built 
like this, in a hollow, and reaching up the sides of the 
hills, would add greatly to the effect: here there are but 
two. 

The people of business, appeared to me highly respec¬ 
table ; the shops, about on a level with those of Bristol; 
and though I certainly met with beggars, I can say, that I 
have seen quite as many in Islington or Hampstead as I 
saw this day in Cork. The numbers of poor, but decently 
clad people, going to and fro on their day’s work, showed 


118 


MUNSTER. 


that there was no lack of employment. “If this he 
a fair specimen of Ireland,” thought I, “ I shall go back 
and contradict all our reports of Irish wretchedness 
especially I might say this, when, in answer to my en¬ 
quiries about wages, I was told that many of these men 
earned sixteen-pence per day, at the mills and breweries 
and distilleries, which are the leading manufactories of the 
place. These flour-mills are magnificent establishments : 
I have never seen any equal to them in England. The 
city, also, exports in large quantities, bacon and butter 
and live stock. 

But the Cork people are by no means slaves to busi¬ 
ness. Commend me to a city whose inhabitants have a 
keener relish for their own particular pleasures. Their 
love of the country is a passion. The banks of the river 
are lined with villas of all sizes, and Cove itself, now a 
considerable town, has sprung out of the country taste of 
the citizens of Cork. Hunting, also, is an amusement, I 
fear, too eagerly pursued by them. Almost every body 
who can by any means afford to keep a horse, hunts ; and 
six packs of hounds are kept in the neighbourhood. We 
know how highly the Irish hunter is prized in England : 
it is certainly a most admirable animal. The English 
horses are far behind them: their training appears to be 
absolutely perfect. My son and I, while taking a walk in 
the environs of Cork, suddenly found ourselves in the 
midst of a hunting-party, and were witnesses to the gen¬ 
tleness, docility, and skill of these beautiful creatures. 
Their riders were awaiting the arrival of the hounds, and 
amused themselves with leaping over some stone fences 
which lay in their way. Some of these fences were from 
three to six feet high. In some the stones were cemented, 
in others, loosely piled; some, again, were edged by 
ditches, on one or both sides. N'importe —neither hunter 


CORK. 


119 


nor huntsman stood still to con the difficulties. Over they 
went, and the beauty of the whole was to observe how sa¬ 
gaciously the horses distinguished between a loose wall 
and a firm one ; for if it was the former, they would not 
touch it with their feet, but sprang over at a leap ; if the 
latter, they took the matter more easily, making a kind of 
halt at the top, mounting it with their fore and hind feet 
like a dog. My son, who loves horsemanship, was so en¬ 
chanted at these beautiful feats, that I could hardly per¬ 
suade him to leave the scene. Well for him, perhaps, that 
he does not live in Ireland, for I am sorry to say the 
hunting hours, in themselves rather too many, are ge¬ 
nerally followed by as many or more spent over the bot¬ 
tle. I am told Ireland is improved in this respect; 
that the country gentlemen do not drink so deep as was 
their custom a few years ago; but there is yet great room 
for amendment, if what I have heard be true. We spent 
one Sunday at Cork, and went in the morning to one of 
the largest of the Catholic Chapels, where we beheld a full 
assemblage of the lower classes. Besides the numbers 
within, there were several hundreds prostrated in the in¬ 
closure surrounding the chapel, all deep in devotion, and 
many counting their beads. Here I saw very few in rags. 
I heard the Catholic bishop preach a sermon, which I 
must own surprised me, accustomed, as we are in Eng¬ 
land, to associate all that is irrational with the services of 
the Catholic church : it was in a strain of simple, feeling, 
fervid elequence ; a truly apostolic appeal to the hearts of 
Christians in behalf of the Gospel. I heard not a word 
calculated to remind me of what was objectionable in the 
doctrine and discipline of this worthy man’s church ; but, 
I must own, that I came away more a Protestant at heart 
than ever. We walked to our hotel, however, in silence ; 
but, in the evening, when discussing the impressions of the 


120 


MUNSTER. 


day, my son observed that lie had been endeavouring all 
the afternoon to reconcile his mind to the idea of such 
men as our morning preacher being sincere in tlieir pro¬ 
fessions of adherence to the Catholic Church. “ How can 
an honest man,” said he warmly, “ make himself a party 
to such frauds as the annnal liquefaction of the blood of 
St. Januarius ?—How is it possible that a really intelli¬ 
gent, high-minded being can patronize pilgrimages like 
those at Lough Derg and Patrick’s Purgatory ?” 

u I have been meditating on the same thing,” said I, 
“ and I confess myself quite as much at a loss as you; 
only that, having seen more of life than you, I know how 
very early associations often confound the judgments of 
good men, and darken the sense of positive right and 
wrong. I can imagine that, rather than give up a system 
which a man holds very dear on the whole, he will tamper 
with his conscience, and give less and less weight to fair 
objections; but I own I can hardly think it possible that 
highly enlightened Catholics should ever be able to behold 
such scenes as those you mention, without compunction ; 
and then you will say, why do they not denounce them ?— 
No, they are not courageous enough; not single-hearted 
enough for that; they cannot bring themselves to be 
thoroughly honest with themselves. 

u But, Edward,” I continued, “ this is a fault w T e in 
England are not free from, although, happily for us, it is 
less injurious in its effects on society. There is not a 
church or sect among us which does not disguise its own 
faults to itself. We are none of us thoroughly honest, 
‘ no, not one.’ ” I have said nothing as yet of our acquaint¬ 
ances in Cork. It so happened that my letters of intro¬ 
duction were rendered useless by the absence of several 
principal merchants; nevertheless we visited with one 
family,—a social hospitable circle,—and with the father, 


CORK. 


121 


mother, two sons and one daughter, we spent a day at 
Blarney, about six miles from Cork. “ What is Blarney ?” 
I hear you say. Blarney is a castle, a massive square 
tower on a hill; and Blarney is a lake, overhung with 
trees, and supporting lovely white waterlilies on its quiet 
bosom ; and Blarney is a great stone, and he who kisess 
that stone may thenceforth flatter till his tongue is tired, 
and may reasonably hope to be believed, whatever he may 
say. My son being conscious of rather a deficiency in the 
power of finding and using courteous language, embraced 
the stone most fervently, and fancies he has ever since 
felt a great propensity to flatter, or blarney , all whom he 
approaches. I cannot say I have made a similar observa¬ 
tion ; but then I did not perform the requsite ceremony. 

The province of Munster contains six counties, and 
Cork gives its name to the largest of these. The rest are 
Kerry, Limerick, Clare, Tipperary and Waterford. 

We were now making our way to Kerry; but I wished 
to coast the county of Cork, as far as conveniently we 
could to the south; and, therefore, our first stage was 
Bandon. We really now began to feel ourselves in Ire¬ 
land. We had hired a car, one of an immense number 
kept by an Italian from the Lake of Como, who lets out 
horses and carriages of all kinds to travellers in the south 
of Ireland. He has his head-quarters at Clonmell, a town 
in Waterford county; and as his history is somewhat 
curious, I noted down a few particulars, which I did not in¬ 
deed learn so early in my travels as it would appear from 
my present mention of them, but some time after, when 
at Clonmell, from Mr. Bianconi’s own lips. He was, he 
says, well connected in Italy, but being rather an untract- 
able youth, his friends put him under the care of a person 
who was travelling on some commercial business to Great 
Britain. This person employed him in carrying about 


122 


MUNSTER. 


small prints for sale ; and afterwards, when his protector 
returned to Italy, young Charles set up business on his 
account. First he sold two-penny prints, then six-penny, 
then a shilling. His wearisome foot-journies led him first 
to think of his present car-establishment. Something that 
might be cheap as well as convenient, on a road which in 
summer is generally thronged with tourists and travellers. 
Gradually having realized a little money he set up his 
first car : it did not immediately answer his expectations, 
but his speculation has at length become so great a favour¬ 
ite with the public, that Bianconi has now five or six- 
hundred horses, and upwards of tw r o-hundred vehicles. 
At near fifty towns of the south and west are they to be 
met with, and nothing can be better conducted than the 
whole concern. My son and I were delighted with the 
humane care displayed in all the arrangements both for the 
drivers and horses. There is an hospital for the sick 
among the latter; and when the drivers fall ill, or are 
disabled, they and their families are well taken care of. 
This Italian is a real benefactor to the south of Ireland. 
He is active in every plan for the good of the people. 
His cars are larger than the common jaunting cars of the 
country,—and an Irish jaunting-car, save and except its 
complete exposure to weather, is certainly a very conve¬ 
nient vehicle for traversing a hilly country, -where you 
are obliged often to alight;—you may step off and on in 
an instant with no danger from wdieels, which are far out 
of reach. They are ugly and awkward carriages for town 
use, from their great breadth, for there is a considerable 
vacant space in the centre, or well as it is called, and the 
passengers occupying the sides of the carriage, and 
sitting back to back, must take their chance of having 
their legs bruised or broken by the carelessness of any 
driver they may meet, who may think proper to brush too 


CORK. 


123 


near them. In the country, however, you ought] to 
be munificently endowed with cloaks or great coats to 
throw over your whole defenceless person in case of a 
heavy shower, and surely Mr. Bianconi could contrive 
some further protection, something of the palanquin kind. 

• In general we may hire a decent car at an inn for the day 
for ten shillings, with an additional fee to the driver; and 
the horses are so well kept and trained that they will go at 
the steady rate of nine miles an hour, even in this hilly 
country. Most of Mr. Bianconi’s, however, are on the 
footing of an omnibus or stage, admitting travellers at all 
prices according to the distance. We in this manner were 
now travelling together with three other passengers to 
Ban try. We found reason to congratulate ourselves on 
the arrangement, especially as we were thus in a way to 
hear the remarks of our fellow-travellers, which were 
more or less intelligent, but all valuable to us as strangers 
wishing to make acquaintance with the people as well 
as with the country. We were sorry to find that the 
farther south we travelled, the poorer was the condition 
and appearance of the people. Bare feet, ragged cloaks, 
coats thrown on without making use of the sleeves, and 
fastened with any thing but the proper button ; wretched 
hovels,—but you can hardly form an idea of the wretched¬ 
ness of one of the worst of the Irish cabins, and I shrink 
from describing such a den of dirt and discomfort. Our 
own pigs are lodged in luxury compared with it. 

While we were travelling along this road, I was alter¬ 
nately amused and pained by the importunacy with which 
a beggar accosted us at one of our halting-places; poor, 
ragged, and destitute, as he seemed to be, the good-humour 
and wit of his repartees, as my fellow-travellers rebuffed 
him, was most striking. At last he extracted a few pencej 
and we saw him immediately go and lay it out on tobacco. 


124 


MUNSTER. 


Presently afterwards I met with him again, and said, 
“ What good will this do you, my friend ? surely you had 
better have brought a loaf, or a bit of bacon !” 

u Ocli, then, ’tis plain yer Honour doesn’t know the 
comfort of the ’ backy! sure the only pleasure such as we 
have in the world is just to take a smoke !* I would rather 
have a pinny-worth of tobacco than three eggs !” 

This poor fellow was in tatters from head to foot; of 
course I could not tell whether his story was true or false ; 
but I met in the course of my after-travels with numbers 
who, I ascertained, were driven to beggary by the nearest 
possible approach to starvation ; but these generally re¬ 
mained quartered in their own particular locality; they 
were not vagrants, but only under (it is to be hoped) tem¬ 
porary distress. I will note down, however, what I found 
to be the state of the labourers who really had employ¬ 
ment, and, as compared with others, might be said to be 
well off. Here is a man with a wife and four children ; 
the farmer who employs him lets him live in a cabin 
which he reckons worth £1. 6s. per annum. He has also 
some ready-manured ground, reckoned to be worth £5. 
more ; and he has grass for one sheep, 10s.; now all this 
money (£6. 16s.) he has to pay for by his labour, Iris 
wages being reckoned at six-pence half-penny per day,— 
to make up the sum he must give two-hundred and fifty- 
one working days. When this has been punctually paid, 
and all the chances of sickness, unfavourable seasons, &c. 
are taken into the account, it may be well judged how 
little is left for food not reared from his own ground, or 
for clothes and furniture and firing. As to the clothing, 
how they come by even the rags they have, I cannot 
imagine. The poor children of the man above mentioned 
cannot go to school, though it is close by, for want of 

* Report of the Commissioners appointed to enquire into the state of the Irish 
poor, p. 258. 


CORK. 


125 


them. He said, <c Poor craturs ! they have so many 
wings and flutters about them, that if they go out on a 
windy day, a smart blast would hoise them over the 
ditch !”* I was pleased with the feeling of this poor man. 
“ It is a great relief if we can sometimes have an egg,— 
it is a great strengthener; hut I sent my hen’s-eggs to 
be sold, and bought potatoes, because if I ate the egg it 
would be all to myself, but a halfpenny-worth of potatoes 
can be divided. ”+ 

Half of them have no bedsteads, I found; but lie on 
straw spread on the ground,—and “the gronnd” is literal 
—for there is no flooring; it is simply the earth beat level 
—is often very damp in wet seasons, and sometimes even 
covered with water. I saw many cabins, certainly, with 
a pane or two of glass, to let in light; but many again 
with only a small scpiare opening, which was stuffed with 
rags or straw at night. I saw too that most, nearly all, 
had chimneys; but they were very badly built up, and 
often full of smoke. Turf in this part of the country was 
tolerably plentiful and cheap; but it is in some places 
very dear. 

We passed through four towns of some name in the 
way to Bantry:—Bandon, which was once a tolerably 
flourishing manufacturing town, but is now much de¬ 
pressed and full of poor: Clonakelty, another decayed 
place: Ross-Carberry, near to which place the scenery 
is very picturesque; the town is half hidden in wood, 
though it stands high ; it is at the head of a long, narrow 
inlet of the sea, which here again we beheld in great 
beauty, for some miles the coast being a series of wooded, 
deep bays, and winding inlets. Skibbereen came next, 
a busy, thriving town, but ugly; and after this, till we 
drew near Bantry, we had ample opportunities of ac- 


* Report, p. 253. 


f Report, p. 251 . 


126 


MUNSTER. 


quainting ourselves with bogs. Some of these were re¬ 
claimed, others for variety’s sake we liked very well in 
their state of nature ; white and yellow lilies, collected in 
the little pools, looked pretty, and then the white tufts of 
bog-cotton were new to us. But, as w r e drew near Ban- 
try, having heard much of the celebrated bay of that 
name, our attention was wholly fixed upon the road before 
us. The scenery improved greatly the nearer we ap¬ 
proached : on one side are Lord Bantry’s beautiful and 
extensive grounds,—hills richly wooded, rising softly one 
above another, the town lying at the head of the bay. 
It was a great pleasure to find so large a proprietor as his 
lordship so w T ell spoken of, and so also is his brother, 
whose estate is not far of, at Glengariff; both are Protes¬ 
tants, but they live in peace with their Catholic neigh¬ 
bours. In times of great and open outrage, indeed, neither 
they nor any one else is secure, and in one of the White 
Boy conspiracies, these brothers had a narrow escape with 
their lives. They were attacked in a long, deep glen, by 
a party of Irish posted on the heights above them, which 
party had rolled down a vast mass of rock exactly across 
the narrow road they were passing ; they were thus en¬ 
tangled both in front and rear, and, but for the speed of 
their admirable hunters, must have been sacrificed : these 
horses climed a steep, projecting rock, and carried them 
off with only a slight wound between them. Passing as I 
did through this glen, I was much impressed by the awful 
character of such a situation,—rocks before, and fierce, 
misguided creatures behind. I cannot easily conceive of 
situations more perfectly beautiful than some that are to 
be found about Bantry, Glengariff and Kenmare. The 
rushing, sparkling streams, quiet little coves, picturesque 
back-grounds formed by mountains, richly wooded hol¬ 
lows, form a succession of beautiful pictures, and the 


CORK. 


127 


moist, warm climate brings to perfection rhododendrons, 
azaleas, arbutus and (in gardens) more tender things than 
these are allowed to stand abroad through the winter. I 
saw very fine red and white camellias which had thus 
been left, they did not even cover their magnolias, which 
attained high beauty. Lord Bantry and Colonel White 
are great benefactors to the country : they employ num¬ 
bers of men on useful public works, and I found the state 
of the poor much better. I saw large portions of bog 
reclaimed, by the simple process of bringing to it 
quantities of Bantry sea-sand, which is the very best ma¬ 
nure known for correcting the bog soil. It is coral sand, 
and from having a larger proportion of lime is found more 
effectual than any other. We allowed ourselves a day or 
two’s halt at Glengariff, and wandered about in the do¬ 
mains of Lord B. and his brother ; nor were we satisfied 
without halting also two days more at Kenmare. I should 
call Kenmare a beautiful little town ; it is situated on the 
banks of the estuary, called the Kenmare river, and is 
twenty-six miles distant from the sea, of which, I should 
add, it is everywhere difficult on the Irish coast to get an 
open view, so many are the inlets and promontories, and 
so vast the irregularities of the coast that, except from 
some very lofty eminence, you look in vain for the broad 
ocean. Kenmare has many new and neat houses; a con¬ 
venient pier, built within the last two years, (in great part 
at the expence of Lord Lansdowne, whose property lies in 
this neighbourhood,) and is beginning to export the agri¬ 
cultural produce of the country. 

My son and I determined here to hire two Kerry ponies 
renowned over all Ireland for strength and sure-footed- 
ness, but shagged and uncouth in appearance. We wished 
to traverse part of what is called the Barony of Glan- 
rough, and to see the Blackwater Bridge, which is about 


128 


.MUNSTER. 


six miles from Kenmare : a most picturesque scene it is : 
the river tumbles through a deep channel, its sides clothed 
with oaks and ashes. A high bridge of two arches is 
thrown over it, and one looks down upon the chasm not 
with any sensation of affright, but with a feeling of some¬ 
thing eminently beautiful and romantic. "We pushed on 
beyond this considerably, to the sea itself indeed, and 
found the coast black, naked, and rocky, interspersed here 
and there with bogs, and singularly forlorn and cheerless 
to the traveller. I did not go, however, so far as Derry- 
nane Abbey, the seat of the Great Agitator, though by no 
means indisposed to do so; but he himself was absent, 
and from all I had heard I conceived our time would be 
better spent in exploring country a little less wild and 
inhospitable. The valley of Kenmare is bounded by such 
high and steep hills, that every way when -we wished to 
leave its confines, we found it no trifling undertaking; , 
but there is now a very fine road to Killarney, which is 
well-managed, and breaks the steepness of the ascents. 
We halted in the course of our rambles at several farm¬ 
houses and cottages, and found them on the whole better 
than many of those we had seen on our way from Cork ; 
some, however, were very wretched, and I was shocked to 
see the multitude of beggars along the line of road leading 
to Killarney. In the wilder parts of the country they are 
of course not so numerous, but even there I saw them 
repeatedly besieging the farm-houses. One day a sudden 
shower had driven us to the shelter of one of these farms 
just at the time of dinner: the family were taking their 
meals, of which potatoes formed by far the greater part. 
This was a lonely place, I could see no other abode from 
it, and yet even here the servants were called up five or 
six times from the dinner-table to relieve the applicants 
at the door, and in no case was the application refused, 


CORK. 


129 


nor even answered churlishly. I could not but admire 
the patience of these people, for it is after all a matter not 
less of expence than of constant interruption and irrita¬ 
tion, which I should have thought calculated to sour the 
temper and harden the hearts of those subjected to it. 
On the contrary the habit of giving seemed to be the estab¬ 
lished one, and refusals quite the exception. The more I 
saw of the spirit of the farmers and tradesmen in Ireland, 
the more I felt how difficidt it would be by any system of 
poor-laws to check mendicancy; they have so accustomed 
themselves to an indolent unenquiring habit of bestowing 
food on all who ask, and take so little heed of the quantity 
outgoing on this account, that they really would con¬ 
sider it a burden to be made to pay a very trifling tax, 
and a serious hardship to be at the trouble of denial. I 
once requested a farmer’s servant to be so kind as to 
ascertain for me how large a quantity of potatoes was 
given as alms at her master’s door on one summer’s 
morning; she accordingly filled a measure ot nine stone 
early in the morning, giving out of that and nothing else, 
and bestowing only at the usual rate,—by two o’clock the 
basket was empty ! How much was added in the course 
of the afternoon, I had no opportunity of learning. Even 
the labourers, I found, while they had even a basket of 
potatoes in the house would give out of that to any who 
asked. The farmers were all very unwilling to calculate 
on the subject, and if I began upon it, I soon saw they 
were desirous of evading it. They mostly said, however, 
that they would rather give as they did now than have 
any compulsory assessment; they do not miss what they 
bestow in potatoes, but a money tax they cannot pay. I 
once ventured to ask whether instead of giving indiscrimi¬ 
nately to all who came, it would not be better to put the 
same quantity aside and send it to a mendicity society, 

K 


130 


MUNSTER. 


where the really distressed would be relieved, but impos¬ 
tors detected; but the farmer replied, “I would rather give 
them myself,—besides the wife would never come into it, 
nor any woman in the parish.” I must add, that although 
I myself was often most eloquently importuned for alms, 

I never heard the applicants at farm-houses or cottages 
making use of any strong solicitation. Aid w r as generally 
given them without either threat or importunity; the 
givers make no calulations,—if the beggar’s bag is already 
full it seems to make no difference. They would feel 
themselves in want of a blessing if the poor man was sent 
away unrelieved; and thus is the system kept up,—and 
many, no doubt, are its evils. The labourer and even the 
small farmer is really often a poorer man than the mendi¬ 
cant, who earns considerably more at times than his own 
subsistence ; and the burthen of supporting the distressed 
is taken from the rich and thrown almost wholly on the 
class least able to afford it. I found, indeed, that the 
houses of the gentry were no places for beggars’ resort; 
very few dared come beyond the porter’s lodge. In 
some instances, potatoes, or a certain weekly sum of 
money was given them, but not by the hands of the 
rich themselves ; nor could I accuse them of hardness 
on this account, for I felt that, were the case my own, 
I should feel extremely averse to encourage so bad and 
pernicious a state of things as that which exists. Very 
many of these rich people also expend large sums in such 
works as are calculated to improve the real condition 
of the people, and no one can doubt that by so doing 
they are better benefactors than the bestowers of indiscri¬ 
minate alms. 

I paid, however, some attention to the class of beggars 
themselves, and investigated many cases of most singular 
and distressing hardship. An Englishman is so accus- 


CORK. 


131 


* 


tomed to conclude beforehand that mendicants are idle, or 
impostors, that it requires an effort to enquire into the 
actual state of things, when he sees himself surrounded by- 
hosts of miserable-looking beings all of whose cases wear 
one general aspect; he does not at first reflect that a great 
many of these poor creatures are under the pressure of per¬ 
haps merely temporary distress, driven to this as the sole 
resource they have. Let a poor family be ever so respect¬ 
able, ever so decent in their habits, no one can say, in the 
state in which Ireland is, that that family may not in a few 
months be without food or shelter; and then what can they 
do but beg ? In these cases there is generally much of 
pride and shame; they do not begin till they have left their 
native place far behind; and they gladly leave off the 
occupation as soon as they can; but for a time there 
seems no other resource. One labouring man said to me, 
“ Last summer I was in great distress myself, sir; I 
begged then, and, if it be the will of God, I may expect 
next summer to do the same; yet now when a beggar comes 
to me and asks for God’s sake, I cannot hold back part of 
what I have. You see, sir,” pointing to the potatoes on his 
board, for he and his family were at dinner, “ I am eating 
dry potatoes ; the beggar can have better food than that, 
he sometimes gets broth and meat, and more potatoes 
than he wants, so that he can change them away for soup, 
or tobacco, or clothes, but yet I don’t think one in an 
hundred would beg, if they were not forced to it. A 
neighbour of mine,” he added, “ went to find work or beg 
in Leinster last summer; he got a pair of shoes just afore 
he went, and he came back without a penny, and forced 
to sell the shoes too ; for you see, yer Honour, he was not 
fit to beg, poor fellow ! he was too bashful, and there’s 
many bear the pains of hunger long, afore they try. The 
childer of that very man used to come and stand at my 

k 2 


132 


MUNSTER. 


door at meal times, not asking for something to eat, hut 
looking with the hungry eye. Och ! them that have felt 
the craving in themselves never forget it. They know 
the racil look in a thousand : those same childer, poor 
craturs! lived for two days on one poor meal of praties, 
ere they spoke; hut then the mother and all five turned 
out and went one day to beg, while the father went an¬ 
other, poor craturs!” 

“And are they home again now?” asked I. 

“ They are, yer Honour ; Garrett has got work, and 
they have been pretty dacent;—hut who knows if that 
will last ?” 

My informant was a fine athletic man, with a most in¬ 
telligent, honest countenance; and I had afterwards ample 
opportunity of hearing his statements confirmed. Let me 
here, once for all, say that the further I went in Ireland, 
the more was I struck with the fine and noble traits of 
character evinced in the midst of their real misery, and 
the more astonished to find that physical wretchedness 
had not more completely extinguished the man and de¬ 
graded them into the animal. The self-denying bene¬ 
volence, the tender and deep sympathy for others, and 
the unbounded gratitude for trifling instances of kindness, 
fairly won my heart. The grand defect, and a serious one 
it is, in the national character, is want of sincerity and 
good faith; but, (for this point I particularly enquired 
into,) it does appear to me that this fault is one chiefly, 
if not solely, manifested towards those whom they have 
been taught to regard as a race wanting in just and proper 
feeling towards themselves, and whom they think they 
may lawfully endeavour to outwit in return. I say not who 
is the most to blame for this state of things ; but I know 
that it is rare to talk with a poor Irishman who does not 
show that he thinks you have a purpose of your own to 


CORK. 


133 


serve with him, and who is not therefore suspicious and 
on his guard. I did my best to lull these suspicions to 
sleep, and believe I sometimes succeeded ; and when, 
once I could discourse with him on fair and open terms, 
I found the Irishman might be fully trusted, and that 
his statements were clear and correct. The priests and 
the protestant clergy, too, concurred in assuring me that 
no people can be more true to obligations among them¬ 
selves. On several occasions, when in company with a 
respectable priest, I conversed upon this subject, and could 
not forbear using the opportunity to urge upon him and 
his brethren the importance of attending to this defect of 
moral principle in their people. I found him quite willing 
to admit and lament it; but his opinion was that it origi¬ 
nated in a sense of oppression, and that time, if in its 
course it is permitted to remove the cause, will remove 
the effect. “The fact is, sir,” said he, “though I am 
sorry to say it, that so much selfishness, so much heartless 
disregard for the interest of the many has been evinced in 
your treatment of Ireland for a long course of time, that 
the people have a great deal to unlearn of what they have 
learnt from you; and though I cordially believe you are 
now directed by a far different spirit, you must not be 
surprised if the old feelings of distrust awhile remain 
among the lower and more prejudiced of my countrymen : 
besides, you must be aware that the time of individual 
provocation is not yet gone by,—many an Orangeman and 
many a clergyman, I fear, will yet outrage the feelings of 
the people, in spite of all that a wise and liberal Govern¬ 
ment can do to prevent it; and this will of course provoke 
retort, and keep up the national fault you so much de¬ 
plore !” 

I could not but assent to the justice of this, while still I 
kept to my point of the duty incumbent on all w ho had 


134 


MUNSTER. 


influence over the people to mitigate and remove, as far 
in them lay, the evils complained of in them. 

To return to ourselves. From Kenmare, after having 
satisfied ourselves by making many excursions, we pro¬ 
ceeded to Killarney. This is a most rainy region ; scarce 
one day had passed without soaking showers; but being 
now well accustomed to these, and provided with double 
sets of cloaks and umbrellas, which can always be lodged 
safe and dry in the centre of the jaunting-cars, we set out, 
though under the shadow of so black a cloud that there 
could be no doubt we should soon feel the full benefit ot 
what it was storing up for us. We reasoned, however, 
that it was far better to have it early in the day, for thus 
our chances of a serene evening at Killarney would be 
the better. Here we were deceived,—no such calm fell to 
our lot on this day; there was but one interval of about 
an hour’s fine weather, and this, wet as we were, we could 
scarcely enjoy, even though it disclosed to us the descent 
towards Killarney, and gave us beautiful glimpses of 
Turc Lake and Turc Mountain, as winding through 
forests of beautiful arbutus-trees, we reached the town, 
a busy and populous one, full of tourists from almost 
every land in Europe, and drove up to an hotel as good 
and as dear as some of the best in London. It is very 
unsentimental to speak of the dearness of Killarney in 
the first place; nevertheless I feel bound to say that it 
is a very expensive place : boating, in particular, the 
greatest pleasure to be met with, is enormously high. Be¬ 
sides your boat, you must engage four men at two shillings 
a day each, and provide them with their dinners and a 
bottle of whiskey each; you must also in general be fa¬ 
voured by the company of a coxswain, gunner, and bugle- 
man, each of whom must be fed. To see the whole 
properly you should embark at the head of the upper lake 


KILLARNEY, 


135 


and descend the chain, a distance of about fifteen miles, 
which requires a day, and a fine day. There are three 
Takes all contained in one mountain hollow; but the 
variety of scenery in these is great. There is also a fine 
road skirting the lakes, which includes extremely beauti¬ 
ful views of their scenery; and by this road we travelled 
the next day, passing through what is called the gap of 
Dunlow in order to reach the head of the upper lake. 
Our first evening, I confess, was not a little dull :—it was 
disspiriting to be within a mile and a half of the lakes, 
and unable to discern any objects but houses and chim¬ 
neys, and common men and women. However, we had 
the consolations of vanity ;—the Irish landlord seemed to 
be never weary of complimenting us on our patience and 
forbearance in remaining quietly in our quarters, and con¬ 
trasting it with the heady rashness of many of his guests 
who were perpetually bribing the poor boatmen to em¬ 
bark with them on the lakes at the hazard of their lives, 
in spite of all remonstrances. Even as he spoke, came in 
an English dandy, crest-fallen and dripping, who I found 
had been spending the afternoon in vain attempts to get 
backward or forward from an island in the centre of the 
lower lake, under whose shores the boatmen had been 
necessitated to take shelter against the repeated squalls 
which every moment threatened to upset the vessel: our 
gentleman, we learnt, had been sick and frightened to liis 
heart’s content, and probably might have derived a whole¬ 
some lesson, if blessed with sense enough to apply it in 
his future career, which I greatly doubted. 

Next morning the heavens and earth were rife with 
beauty, and our host took care to intimate that the bless¬ 
ing was especially intended as a reward for good children 
like ourselves,—not greedily bent on snatching the green 
and unripe fruit. We had indeed a glorious and happy 


13G 


MUNSTER. 


day,—light and shade, morning and evening tints, all were 
displayed before us in perfection: the ride to the upper 
lake was not the least beautiful part of the excursion. 
The domains and gentlemen’s seats are fine,—that of Lord 
Headly in particular; and the mountain views striking. 
The upper lake, where we first embarked, is the smallest 
of the three; but I know not if that very circumstance 
does not make it more beautiful,—every object is distinctly 
seen, and not one is tame,—the mountains look the grander 
for being nearer, and the islands are as lovely as the noble 
arbutus contrasted with the grey rocks and deep water 
can make them. The long passage from this lake to Turc 
Lake is in a different style, of course :—it is close, river 
scenery for five miles, and, in its way, is perfect. The 
Eagle’s Nest is a very picturesque rock on this passage, 
and the echoes which our bugleman awakened while pass¬ 
ing under it were truly beautiful. Shortly after passing 
this point, the boat shot over the only really dangerous 
part of the voyage, (supposing the weather to be mode¬ 
rately calm :)—this is the ruined arch of a bridge, called 
Old Weir Bridge. On this boats have often been wrecked 
in stormy times, and the bugleman said he had been 
twice upset there, and the last time nearly drowned. 
He seemed rather unwilling to pass the spot again ; but 
the boatmen would not set him on shore, and we all got 
through very safely. The strait leading from the upper 
to the two lower lakes would terminate here, and passen¬ 
gers would have a full view of both of them, but that they 
are divided, and the entrance guarded by Dina’s island. 

This beautiful island, rich in green lawns and groves, 
and decorated by a pretty cottage, where parties often 
dine, contracts the passage into one still narrower. By 
taking a course to the right, the boat will soon be brought 
into the expanse of Turc Lake : the left will conduct more 


KILLARNEY. 


137 


readily into the Glena Bay, which is the commencement 
of the lower lake. We coasted Turc Lake, first, and 
though I will not say that, it is, by any means, so fine, on 
the whole, as the upper lake, it is beautifully soft and 
pretty in its details :—such colouring on the sides of its 
small bays and coves; such abundance of ferns, lichens 
and mosses, and such picturesque masses of rock ! The 
Lower Lake, which we afterwards entered, is by far the 
largest. The glory of this is the Island of Innisfallen. I 
never saw, I never expect to see, any thing more rich, 
more varied and fruitful in beauty, than this one spot of 
about twenty acres. Here are trees worthy of primeval 
forests; ash, holly, arbutus, finer than I ever saw them 
elsewhere. There is a ruin, too—for Ivillarney has its 
charms for antiquarians as well as lovers of the pictur¬ 
esque : and the remains of Mucruss Abbey, which after¬ 
wards we visited, are as interesting to the former, as the 
gigantic yew-tree, which grows in its cloisters, is to the 
latter. The peasants bury their dead in great numbers 
here; and the slight manner in which interment is per¬ 
formed, is very objectionable, and takes off' greatly from 
the perfection of one’s interest in the whole scene : the 
place is absolutely strewed with sculls and bones ; and no- 
one likes to treat with indifference or disrespect the poor 
remains of humanity. It was while quietly coasting this 
lake, or passing from one beautiful isle to another, that 
our boatmen undertook to explain to me the origin and 
occasion of the Killarney Lakes. I might look incredu¬ 
lous—I suppose I did; and Edward laughed outright; 
but, still, I thought the legend worth recording; and here 
it is. 

“ In former times, a great and powerful city occupied 
the valley now filled by the lakes; and the ruler of this 
city was a mighty chieftain, called O’Donoglioe. The 


138 


MUNSTER. 


city wanted nothing for its prosperity and comfort, except 
water : it had but one little spring, and this was the gift 
of a saint or sorcerer, who called it up at the prayer of a 
beautiful virgin, warning her that it must always be closed 
every evening by a silver cover left for the purpose. This 
order was long religiously obeyed. 

“But O’Donoghoe, in unbelieving mood, made merry 
with the legend ; and one day being heated with wane, he 
commanded the silver cover to be brought into his own 
house, saying, it would make him a bath. In vain did his 
vassals remonstrate. Terrified by his vehemence, they 
at length dragged in the ponderous cover, while O’Do- 
naghoe laughed, and said, 1 Heed ye not; the cool night 
air will improve the spring, and to-morrow the water will 
flow fresher than ever !’ 

u There was one man who feared the event more than 
the rest, and he fled alone to the mountains; and when the 
morning broke, and he looked down into the valley, city 
and land had disappeared ; the rich meadows were gone ; 
the little spring had become an unfathomed lake, and 
O’Donoghoe’s last bath was taken; and the fishermen 
now, (so says my informant,) in bright clear evenings, can 

‘See the round towers of other days 
In the waves beneath them shining.’ 

Palaces and towers glimmer as through glass; and O’Do¬ 
noghoe is seen riding on a snorting white horse, or even 
on the bosom of the waters in his spirit-bark.” 

“ I saw him once,” whispered the old boatman to me, in 
a confidential tone. I started, and looked hard at the 
man, a strong figure of about fifty, with long black hair, 
which the least breeze scattered about his temples. I 
looked, because I did not at first believe him to be in 
earnest, but I was soon perfectly convinced that he was 


KILLARNEY. 


139 


so. I have no doubt the legend had taken full possession 
of his belief, and that he was fully persuaded he had really 
met the chieftain; nor was he at all eager to tell me the 
particulars, seeming to regard it as a sort of profanation to 
throw away fresh details on a heretic. By dint of much ques¬ 
tioning, however, I drew from him, that he had stayed out 
one night late fishing; it had rained hard all day, and but 
for his bottle of whiskey, he thought he must have perished. 
He was, and had been for a long time, the only living being 
on the waters, when all at once a boat, as if dropped from the 
clouds, came sailing towards him ; it came rapidly on, but 
only one steersman was visible ; a gigantic figure dressed 
in scarlet and gold, with a three-cocked hat trimmed with 
broad gold lace : just as he! passed him, Paddy saw two 
large black eyes glaring forth, which scorched him like 
coals. His wife called him drunken fellow, but “it was not 
the whiskey done that,” though he did not come to himself 
till the boat was ashore and all right. He seemed rather 
sony afterwards that he had told me so much; he re¬ 
peated over and over that, O’Donoghoe, though terrible, 
looked like a raid gentleman, “ a perfect gentleman,” he 
added; “ he was, is now, and ever will remain.” The 
younger boatmen I found were much less credulous than 
this man ; they were inclined to joke him, but his serious¬ 
ness and anger soon silenced them. 

I was afterwards amused, as it was late in the evening 
and moonlight, by the boatman’s request to be allowed to 
name one of the many small islands of the lake after me, 
which they said could not be properly done except under 
the light of the moon. No doubt the said island had re¬ 
ceived many a traveller’s name before it was consecrated 
by mine, but I had a wish to indulge the poor fellows, 
who seemed to enjoy the ceremony. I had first to land 
on the island; then the boatmen, resting on their oars, 


140 


MUNSTER. 


formed a circle round me, and the ghost-seer pronounced 
a sort of incantation in Irish; he then broke off a sprig 
from one of the arbutus’s and fixed it in my hat; then 
asked me my name, and, with O’Donoghoe’s permission, 
desired the boatmen to repeat it three times, which they 
did with loud hurrahs. Another took a bottle filled with 
water and repeated an address to O’Donoghoe, threw it 
with all his might against a rock, so as to break it in a 
thousand pieces. They afterwards drank a bottle of 
whiskey to my health, and gave three cheers more to me 
and my island kingdom. Thus am I now an Irish pro¬ 
prietor, though, alas, an absentee ! 

On leaving Killarney we might, by a good and easy few 
hours’journey, have reached Tralee; but I wished much to 
skirt Dingle Bay, and particularly to visit the famous estate 
of Lord Headley, of which I had heard so much. The road 
we took for this purpose, led us first to Castlemain, which 
is at the head of the bay, aud from thence we turned to¬ 
wards its southern shores ; in fact, w r e turned back toward 
that part of the country lying between Kenmare River and 
Dingle Bay, only we kept close to the shore of the latter, 
in the direction of Cahir. A very few miles’ ride brought 
us to the property I mention of Lord Headley. The estate 
comprises about 15,000 English acres. Till his lordship 
began the work of improvement it was the most desolate 
of regions; half bog, half rugged mountain-land : but the 
people!—no words can describe the savage, brutal, un¬ 
tamed character of the population. Iveragh was an asy¬ 
lum for all the smugglers, robbers, and murderers in the 
district; it used to be the people’s boast that no criminal 
had ever been caught or brought to justice here: ship¬ 
wrecks were their harvest. They used to build their 
cabins upon the wild cliffs, in order to have a good look 
out for the wrecks ; and when they came on shore there 


GLENBEGH. 


141 


was nothing but fighting and quarrelling for the spoil. 
There were perhaps fourteen or fifteen partners in one oc¬ 
cupation of land, and they were never without disputes. 
They lived in the worst possible dwellings, without win¬ 
dows or chimneys, and very few had shoes or stockings. 
One wild rough road wound the side of a great sea-cliff, 
like Penman Mawr, and this was the only road in the 
country : there was not a car to be met with. They had 
cows indeed, miserable, half-starved creatures, perhaps 
1200 of them on Lord Headley’s estate; but they were 
too many for the food, and were so weak and famished, 
that they got the name of lifters , from being unable to get 
up without being lifted. Upon this barren region, and 
these bad subjects, Lord Headley’s agents set to work, and 
in a few years the transformation is truly astonishing; 
2000 acres of mere bog have been reclaimed ; the people 
are now neat, well-clotlied, and industrious. About one 
hundred and fifty new houses have been built, and they 
are as neat as you will find in a country village in England, 
the old cabins being turned into cow-houses or stables. 
The rough road has been converted into a fine mail-coach 
road, surpassing even that at Penman Mawr in grandeur; 
and Lord Headley has made another road at his own ex¬ 
pense. The farmers have now almost all cars ; and in a 
time of great distress, the people of this estate were ac¬ 
tually able to sell food to the rest of the country. All 
this has been done by the constant mixture of encourage¬ 
ment, with firmness in the management of the tenantry. 
A liberal allowance for all improvement, has been made. 
Money was lent, occasionally given ; and so peaceful and 
civilized a district cannot perhaps be found in the south¬ 
west of Ireland as this of Glenbegli. We had great de¬ 
bates at this point about our route. I had had no inten¬ 
tion of proceeding towards O’Connel’s town, but had 


142 


MUNSTER. 


meant to return to Castlemain, and from tlience proceed 
to Tralee; but what we saw of the magnificent scenery 
along this road had so struck us, that we willingly listened 
to the advice of a gentleman, like us, a traveller, but 
possessing more experience than ourselves. He re¬ 
commended our proceeding westward to Cahir, and thence 
crossing Dingle Bay in a boat, which would save us a long 
land expedition, and enable us to see more of the coast. 
Besides, he advised us strongly to visit Valentia Island, 
the most westerly point of the British dominions in Eu¬ 
rope, with the exception of the small isles called the Blas- 
kets. The same grand scenery still accompanied us as we 
made our way to Cahir ; but we soon quitted the range of 
good farm-houses connected with the Glenbegh property. 
Still I have no doubt the effect of his improvements has 
extended itself much beyond Lord H’s estate. The Kerry 
peasantry are a most industrious, active, intelligent race; 
and though I found them so ignorant as scarce to know 
the number of weeks in a month, I can testify that more 
willing labourers are nowhere to be found. The rents they 
had to pay for very poor cabins and small lots of land I 
am sorry to say were enormous, and the only wonder was 
to see that so miserable a reward for industry had not 
quite broken the spirits of these poor people. 

Fishing is a very difficult, dangerous occupation off 
Cahir-siveen and Dingle Bay: the westerly gales drive 
the huge waves of the Atlantic upon the rocks with tre¬ 
mendous force; and the passage between Valentia Island 
and the Iveragli coast is all but inaccessible in such winds. 
It was rough enough when we crossed ; yet not so as to 
alarm our boatmen, and we were very glad we had visited 
this island, which furnishes another specimen of what 
may be done by good and judicious management on un¬ 
promising regions. It nearly all belongs to the Knight of 


DINGLE. 


143 


Kerry, who has built good houses, improved the land, and 
worked the slate quarries, which are really valuable ; 
numbers of hands are employed upon them, and conse¬ 
quently there is far less of distress in this neighbourhood 
than in many others which we visited. Beggars are for¬ 
bidden to resort to it; but the prohibition, though to some 
extent effectual, is sometimes evaded. The ferry-man 
told me he took the poor cratures over occasionally, 
though the Knight forbade him, 1“ because he would not 
like to have the curse put upon the boat.” 

We had directed the innkeeper at Castleinain to for¬ 
ward our luggage to Tralee ; and being unencumbered by 
portmanteaus, took our passage in a fisherman’s boat to 
Dingle. Both my son and I rather repented of this 
enterprize, when once embarked; the heavy, rolling sea 
breaking on the high shores of the bay which hemmed us 
completely in, and the sight at a distance of the waves 
beating on the bar of Castlemain did not please us ; be¬ 
sides the sky looked black, the sea-fowl screamed, and 
our boatmen were not so obliging or conversable as the 
Irish usually are. We could not get them to say what 
were their opinions of the weather, or the length of time 
it would take to cross; nor did they care to explain their 
movements, which seemed to us rather singular. In fact 
we appeared to be going far out to the west,—leaving the 
place of our destination on our right hand; but I soon 
found that they knew their business, and that as soon as 
they reached the point which experience had marked out 
to them, they veered about, and, creeping under the rocks 
eastward, made their way to the desired haven. Un¬ 
natural as it is for Irishmen to be silent and sullen, I can 
well conceive that a Dingle-bay boatman would not often 
escape the dangers of this part of the coast unless his 
whole mind was employed in liis business ; and I felt very 


144 


MUNSTER. 


grateful to our guides for tlieir taciturnity before we 
parted. I should add, too, that ere that time, when they 
saw us in what they considered a safe position, this taci¬ 
turnity abated, and they began cheerfully to answer our 
questions, and point out objects of interest. Many an 
awful tale of shipwreck has the Iveragh fishermen to tell. 
Had we chosen it, we might have gleaned materials for 
volumes of horrors; but I never had a taste for these, 
and was too well pleased at the idea of being safely 
landed at Dingle to wish for one instant’s unnecessary 
delay. There is something exceedingly fine in the situa¬ 
tion of this town,—the most western town in Europe :— 
lofty mountains form the back-ground, and shelter it on 
all sides excepting one, where the Sea entering forms a 
lake. The buildings stand on sloping ground, and the 
houses, inn, &c. are respectable. Very fine fish are caught 
here, and transported to Tralee, &c., nearly 1200 men, in¬ 
deed, are employed in the fisheries, and there is a pretty 
good inland trade. Still I saw many, very many unem¬ 
ployed ; and when I enquired and found a very common 
rate of wages to be 7d. or even 6d. a day, without diet, I 
• wondered not at the symptoms of poverty I saw; I found, 
too, that the day’s work in this part of the land is 
reckoned from five in the morning till seven in the 
evening, rendering it scarce possible for the labourer to 
find any time for the cultivation of his own bit of ground, 
if he have one. Fuel, too, I learnt was dear, although 
provisions were certainly cheap. 

Before I came to Ireland, I had heard continually of 
what is called the con-acre system. I did not understand 
it, and enquired its meaning particularly,—a melancholy 
meaning it has for the poor Irish. The con-acre , or corn- 
acre system then, is this :—a poor man wishes to rear his 
own crop of potatoes or grain; but without capital he 


ABSENTEEISM. 


145 


cannot till or manure the ground. lie goes, therefore, to 
a richer neighbour, a farmer or land-agent. This larger 
proprietor manures, ploughs, and prepares some land to 
receive a crop, no matter whether he be himself the owner 
of it or only the original tenant. The poor man then 
agrees to take a portion of this prepared land, perhaps a 
half, a quarter, or perhaps only an eighth of an acre for 
one season only ; all then that the subtenant has to pro¬ 
vide is the seed that is to be put into the ground. A high 
rent is generally fixed, such as indeed cannot be paid but 
in good seasons, perhaps as much as ten or twelve pounds 
per acre, and higher too. If the crop seems not likely to re¬ 
ward the labourer after he has paid the rent, he throws it up, 
and the landlord takes what he can out of the crop. Thus 
the land comes to be subdivided, and the poor racked to 
the uttermost to pay what is often no more than a bare 
subsistence. 

In travelling from Dingle to Tralee we fell into com¬ 
pany with a farmer from England, settled on one of the 
estates of an English proprietor, who gave us a very 
intelligent account of his neighbourhood. My son was 
curious to hear his opinion of the effect of absentee¬ 
ism. “ Why, sir,” he replied, “ it is as the landlord 
is ; I should like, no doubt, to see my lord living amongst 
us ; but then we know very well that lords and gentlemen 
from England cannot be fond of spending their lives here, 
besides that they have often their fine places in England. 
What I think we have a right to ask is, that they choose 
good agents, and come among us sometimes to see how we 
go on ; but I never will join in the cry against them merely 
for being absentees, when I see many of these absentees 
doing more for us than many who live close by us. When 
they spend thousands of pounds in useful public works, 
which pounds might have been kept in their own pockets, 
and will profit them but little for many years to come, it 


14G 


3IUNSTER. 


would be very ungrateful to run them down because they 
are absentees. Besides, sir, I must tell you, to be fair, that 
it is often no such very great blessing to have a resident 
English landlord. If a high church tory comes and settles 
down here, we know full well that he will lend himself to 
those who do Ireland mischief; who set the people quar¬ 
relling, aud by meddling w r ith their priests, inflame all 
their animosities. Of course I am a Protestant, and should 
be very glad to see the people here Protestants too, but it 
is downright nonsense to talk as Englishmen often do of 
the whole fault being in the Catholic religion. If the peo¬ 
ple have employment they are neither wretched nor idle ; 
if they have neither they are both.” 

When we reached Tralee we found the towm in the 
bustle of a fair. Tralee is the county town of Kerry : it is 
a cheerful, busy, improving place, and having many 
public-spirited proprietors in its neighbourhood it is al¬ 
ways full of life, and not without an appearance of re¬ 
spectability, and even gentility. The harbour is bad, 
which has been a great disadvantage to it as a place of 
trade; but a sliip-canal is constructing from the bay to 
the town which may remedy this inconvenience. There 
are few countries in the old world which perhaps have 
more instances to show of a rapid rise in particidar towns 
and districts than Ireland, in spite of its general distress. 
Tralee is one of these. Only a few years ago this was a 
mere assemblage of hovels and poor fishermen’s dwellings; 
occasionally a family of respectability might, for cheap¬ 
ness, put up with its inconveniences and encounter its po¬ 
sitive discomforts ; but now it is really a handsome, pros¬ 
perous town, with good streets of genteel houses, and 
many pleasant villas in the outskirts. There is also a spa, 
much resorted to for its waters. 

From Tralee we took a car to Ardfert, which used to 
be the capital of Kerry, was the seat of a bishop, and a 


THE SHANNON. 


147 


famous university. Here are to be seen the ruins of the 
ancient cathedral church, as well as those of a Franciscan 
abbey, founded so early as 1253, by Thomas.Lord Kerry, 
and long the burial-place of the knights of Kerry. Ard- 
fert is situated close upon Ballyheigh Bay; and, following 
the windings of the coast, we came to Kerry Head, which 
is one of the promontories that mark the entrance of the 
River Shannon. Here it was that we first saw that very 
noble river, whose breadth across to the opposite cliff of 
Cape Lean is here eight miles. The scenery looking to¬ 
wards the Atlantic between Ardfert and Kerry Head is 
fine and bold, but savage, and the sea comes with tremen¬ 
dous force upon the caverns of the rocks. It is about Kerry 
Head that those pretty violet and rose-coloured amethysts, 
called Kerry stones, are found. We continued our cir¬ 
cuitous route, following the course of the Shannon, till we 
reached the river Feale, which falls into it; and then we 
took advantage of a boat and hailed the steamer, which 
was on its way to Limerick. The Shannon here divides 
Kerry from Clare, and we thought we could not do better 
than avail ourselves of the conveyance, which had offered 
so opportunely, to take a view of the country on both sides 
of this fine river. Here we passed Scattery Island, near 
Kilrush, in Clare ; and then Tarbert, a pretty little town, 
situated in a snug bay on the Kerry side. Glynn, also, 
which is not in Kerry, though on the same side, but in 
Limerick, looks very inviting with its fine woods, and the 
handsome residence of Mr. Fitzgerald, the knight of 
Glynn. The river is now sometimes, for a short space, 
contracted by here and there a headland, pushing itself 
forward; sometimes it sweeps round deep bays; rich 
woods and villas and green slopes border it, and it rolls 
on, itself a mighty mass of waters, sometimes stormy and 
agitated as the ocean itself. The finest point, however, by 

L 2 


148 


MUNSTER. 


far, is that in which a large arm or estuary from the river 
branches off, and spreads itself high up into the county of 
Clare, thus giving the scene the appearance of a vast 
branching lake, being studded with islands of the most 
vivid green, covered with grazing cattle. On the Lime¬ 
rick side we presently came in view of the deep woods of 
Mount Trenchard, Mr. Spring Rice’s seat; Castletown 
domain, and a fine ruined castle ; while on the Clare bank 
there were not wanting many beautiful villas and lawns. 
We did not see the city of Limerick itself until very near 
it, as it has not any building of great elevation, and is 
wanting in spires and steeples. The river contracts as 
you approach, and is spanned by a new bridge, part of 
which is a draw r bridge; a fine structure it is, of five 
arches, each seventy feet span. 

The city itself is a very interesting one, but I ought to 
speak of it as it is, namely, two towns in one. There is an 
old Irish town, consisting of narrow and gloomy streets 
and tall houses, and an English one, regular and hand¬ 
some. In the first of these is a very ancient bridge over 
an arm of the Shannon, said to have been built in the year 
1210; and the cathedral, containing several monuments of 
high antiquity, besides its own intrinsic claims to atten¬ 
tion, for it certainly is handsome within, though without 
rather shapeless. From its tower we surveyed the neigh¬ 
bouring country, and traced the windings of the Shannon, 
which otherwise, when only beheld from its margin, are 
rather perplexing. My son and I soon saw, that if we 
meant really to explore this city, we must prepare our¬ 
selves for having our feelings shocked and disgusted by the 
sight of much misery; indeed, though I had before often 
been grieved at the distress of the lower orders of Irish, 
till I came to Limerick I had no conception of its depth and 
extent. The old parts of the town contain scenes of des- 


LIMERICK. 


149 


titution and woe, such as I at this moment cannot think 
of without shuddering. Can it be believed, and yet it is lite¬ 
rally true, that I saw human beings in cellars wholly dark 
and ill ventilated, and in a state of absolute nakedness, 
without bedding, with scarce a mat to place under them, 
emaciated, diseased—all but starved ? The gaunt, hol¬ 
low countenances haunted me for weeks after, and the 
sickening smells occasioned a fainting from which I did 
not immediately recover. The children in these abodes 
were many of them naked, or with nothing but the barest 
possible covering. There was no furniture in most of 
them, except an iron pot for the potatoes ; no table, chair, 
bench, or bedstead ; perhaps a few little bundles of straw 
for the wretched people to sleep on. I went, it is true, 
not to many of these dwellings, perhaps about forty; how 
could it be expected that, unable to relieve this misery, I 
could encounter it for days together ? I made no selection 
of the worst places: I might have entered hundreds of 
hovels as bad as these forty; but who can stand such sights 
as these ? It was even more painful to see and know that 
there are a number of individuals in the place not yet 
quite so wretched as these, but fast approaching to it.— 
Hand-loom weavers, working from five in the morning till 
eight at night, for wages varying from two-and-sixpence 
to four shillings per week ! If they had, as many had, 
wives and families, could it be possible they would long be 
able to keep from utter destitution ? A day’s sickness, or the 
failure of labour, would instantly throw them into the state 
of those wretched creatures to whose sufferings I have ad¬ 
verted ; as it was, I found them living on one scanty meal 
of potatoes per day. It may be judged that I deeply felt 
here the urgent necessity of something being done for a 
country in such a deplorable situation as this the means 
of removal for the surplus population, employment for 


150 


MUNSTER. 


those who remain, and food, clothing, and habitation for 
the aged and absolutely destitute. Who can doubt the duty 
of a government to exert its utmost diligence to provide 
these for the people under its protection ? After seeing 
all this wretchedness, I could not immediately recover 
myself so as to enter into the beauties of the scenery round 
Limerick. The taste, splendour, and luxury displayed in 
the princely villas round, claimed my admiration in vain ; 
everywhere I saw famine, nakedness, and disease. I 
could hardly conceive the possibility of enjoyment, while 
a few hundred yards divided the man rolling in luxury 
from the miserable, despised wretch in the cellar: but I 
would not be understood to intimate that the rich inha¬ 
bitants are guilty of the misery I witnessed, nor that any 
effort of theirs could effectually relieve it: they do give 
employment, they do give money ; they support hospitals 
and loan societies, asylums and schools; they many of 
them, and among these may be honourably named Mr. 
Rice, do all they can to promote the improvement of their 
city, both as to its trade and internal arrangements ; but 
to purify Limerick from its miseries, it would require that 
a crusade should be preached, and something like a super¬ 
human energy put forth. Whether either that or a plainer 
and homelier agency will be most effective, or effective at 
all, remains to be shown. It seems as if the city of Li¬ 
merick were destined to suffer, in larger measure than any 
other place in Ireland, the miseries of privation, both in 
peace and war. Every one conversant in any way with 
Irish history knows the important part assigned to it in 
the war of the revolution. Limerick is to the Catholics in 
some degree what Londonderry is to the Protestants, a 
scene of past heroic and patient daring and sufferance. I 
own the recollection of the narrow escape of the Protestant 
power in Ireland from utter destruction at this place, and 


LIMERICK. 


151 


of the benefit which Ireland unquestionably derived from 
the obstinate stand of her native chiefs here, came strongly 
in aid of the sympathy I entertained for the present suffer¬ 
ings of her people. Here there wanted but a few days, a 
few hours, a little favouring breath from heaven, and the 
Catholics, as the General of King William well knew, 
might have been the predominant party, might have ob¬ 
tained terms of at least perfect equality to the Protes¬ 
tants. In spite of the battle of the Boyne, and the suc¬ 
ceeding contests, the position of the Protestant forces be¬ 
fore Limerick was hazardous in the extreme ; and the ar¬ 
rival of the French fleet, which was near at hand, would 
have unmade all the past conquests. Happily, how¬ 
ever, and on the whole, favourably for Ireland, the treaty 
of Limerick was signed, and foreign mercenaries ceased to 
forage the country. I ran over in my mind the different 
events and the object of this war, and I could come to no 
other conclusion than that of my historian ;* it was “ a war 
of confiscation it sprung up from an attempt, originally 
unjust, to dispossess the native Irish, and plant English and 
Scotch emigrants in their stead ; and all the massacres and 
attempts at insurrection made by the natives arose out of 
the sense of this oppression, and fear for their future liberties 
and those of their religion. Many motives were afterwards 
mixed with these ; but whoever can doubt that the claim of 
right and ultimate justice was that of the Irish and Anglo- 
Irish Catholics, must have read history with other eyes than 
mine. I visited all the scenes rendered memorable by this 
siege. As to the details of the horrors committed by the 
besieging army I tried to forget them ; but surely, never 
was a less edifying lesson taught to the world than that 
inculcated by William’s foreign troops. They were, as it 


* O'Driscoll. 


152 


MUNSTER. 


has been well said, “ the sweepings of Europe, and spotted 
with the foulest vices that could be raked from the pollu¬ 
tions of her great cities.” “ Every writer who has treated 
of the affairs of this period, the sturdiest Protestant, the 
stanchest Orangeman, has admitted and deplored the 
extraordinary depravity of this army.”* All allow, too, that 
the comparison was, on the part of the Irish, most fa¬ 
vourable ; their army was a national one, contending for 
country, home, and religion. Barbarities might be, and 
were committed by the wild refugees who had been turned 
from their homes and driven into the mountains and bogs, 
but these were no part of the army, and the commanders 
were no more answerable for their offences than were the 
more quiet Protestants for the excesses of William’s sol¬ 
diers, which he tried, but in vain, to repress. 

From scenes like these, and reflections upon them, I 
turned with calm pleasure to the more recent memorials 
of one, whose praise is among all parties, of Jebb, late 
Bishop of Limerick. It was delightful to think of such 
a man,—of his meek, unobtrusive merit, gradually win¬ 
ning its way to the mitre, and preserving in high places 
the same conciliatory spirit which had made itself so 
eminent in the smaller confines of a parish. I went to 
Abington glebe, the quiet parsonage so long the scene of 
his ministrations, and thought of the sabbath when the 
Christian clergyman of the church of Ireland did not 
disdain to enter the Catholic chapel of his neighbour the 
priest,f to hear an impressive exhortation from him to the 
people, and then to address them himself, from the same 
altar, in behalf of order and peace. “ He was heard,” 
says his biographer, “ with breathless attention. Some 

* O’Driscoll. 

t On occasion of a very threatening insurrection in the county of Limerick, ICith 
December, 1821. 


ABINGTON. 


153 


were affected even to tears. All eyes were rivetted upon 
him as he told the men of Abington that he lived among 
them without fear; that his doors were unbolted, his 
windows unbarred; and that they should remain so ; for 
that the only safeguard he sought was in the hearts of his 
parishioners ; that he had now lived among them for 
more than ten years, and had always found them, what 
he knew he should ever find them, a loyal, affectionate, 
peaceable people.” The people pressed round the altar 
as he spoke, all eager to subscribe to a set of resolutions 
framed by their clergyman, in conjunction with the priest, 
the purport of which was the repudiation of all secret 
oaths and associations, and a determination to prevent 
among themselves any proceedings which might have a 
tendency to endanger the peace of the country. They 
kept the promise of that day religiously, so that while all 
the surrounding country became a scene of fire and deso¬ 
lation, Abington parish, to the end of the disturbances, 
remained peaceful and untainted. Abington is about nine 
miles from Limerick; the circumstance to which I have 
alluded was afterwards alluded to in parliament by Lord 
Glenelg, then the Honourable Charles Grant. “ In the 
county of Limerick,” said he, “ there is a parish, un¬ 
touched to this moment by any of the disorders which 
have distracted that country. It contains a very crowded 
population, almost entirely Roman Catholic ; yet, in that 
palish the Protestant clergyman keeps no arms, nor has 
he in any respect increased the fastenings or defences of 
his house ; and at night he sleeps in security, confiding in 
the protection of Providence, and the good will of his 
Roman Catholic parishioners; the neighbourhood has been 
visited by nightly marauders, and many excesses have 
been committed, but in this parish not a single outrage 
has taken place.” After detailing the circumstances I 


154 


MUNSTER. 


before alluded to, the sabbath address &c. from the altar, 
Lord Glenelg goes on to say, “Now to what must we 
ascribe these effects ? Not to any sudden burst of en¬ 
thusiastic kindness, suspending, on a special occasion, 
habitual distrust and estrangement; not to a momentary 
impulse urging Protestant and Catholic to unite for a par¬ 
ticular purpose. No, but to a settled and regular habit of 
conciliation between the Protestant and Catholic clergy¬ 
man and their parishioners, a habit formed and built up 
during a kindly intercourse of twelve years. It is the re¬ 
sult, therefore, of a system silently matured in the time of 
peace, and at length manifesting its efficacy in time of 
danger.” 

When we walked round the parsonage and surveyed 
the neighbourhood, we could not but feel that it was no 
wonder Mr. Jebb’s friends, who knew his powers, should 
lament that he was while there “ buried in a desert,” but, 
as he beautifully says, “they little knew, nor was I properly 
conscious myself, that there was manna in the desert, and 
living waters from the rock. I can now look back with 
gratitude to my long sojourning there: and were it not 
that I have had such experience of a graciously protecting 

power, above me and around me, I should now tremble at 

% 

what may await me in the new and arduous sphere on 
which I am about to enter. May it be ordered that the 
see of Limerick shall be to me but half so productive of 
use and of enjoyment as the quiet rectory of Abington !”* 

I had not yet visited the county of Clare,—now a county 
of Munster, though formerly included in Connaught, and 
anciently called Thomond. It is a backward tract of 
country in many respects, though fine as to natural scenery. 
I entered it by the Fergus River, which falls into that part 


* Jebb’s Life, Vol. i. p. 82. 


CLARE. 


155 


of the Shannon spreading out as a noble estuary towards 
the north, some way above Limerick. A boat took us 
direct up the river to Clare, a pretty, small town, not the 
county town, however, as its name and situation would 
seem to deserve ; but that distinction is reserved for Ennis, 
about two miles to the north. In those two miles the 
river ceases to be a navigable one, and we walked the 
distance, not proposing to do more than pay a few hours’ 
visit, and return to the river whose course we meant to 
retrace to the Shannon, and again to follow that stream 
to Killaloe. It w r as scarcely worth our while to make 
this digression to Ennis, and we rather repented after¬ 
wards, as we were thereby obliged to curtail our visits to 
places better worth seeing; but there is, notwithstanding, 
some fine scenery about Ennis, and the town is populous 
and busy, though containing much wretchedness. During 
the last few years some very productive lead mines have 
been discovered in various parts of Clare, and others 
which, though long known, have been unprofitably worked, 
are in course of improvement. These I did not visit; but 
I heard enough to be certain that mining enterprise is 
well directed in this part of the world, and will in all 
probability bring in rich returns. 

We were not at all sorry to return to the banks of the 
Shannon; and nothing, indeed, can be more beautiful 
than the views along the river from Limerick to Castle 
Connell, and again on the other side to Killaloe: green 
lawns, fine timber, handsome dwellings, abundant flocks 
and herds. 

At Killaloe I was again in Clare. The antiquities of 
this place are, we found, well deserving of attention, as 
well as its natural beauties. It has a fine old Gothic 
cathedral of much architectural merit, and close adjoining 
to this building is an oratory, supposed to be built by the 


150 


MU NS T Ell. 


Danes in the ninth century. With regard to its present 
condition, Killaloe is improving : it has a fine salmon-fish¬ 
ery, and it is the head-quarters of the Inland Steam Navi¬ 
gation Company, which is extending its projects in various 
directions, and promises to render the resources of Ire¬ 
land much more available to her prosperity than they 
have hitherto been. There are also slate quarries near 
Killaloe, of great value in themselves, and affording much 
employment to the immediate neighbourhood. The river 
navigation between this town and Limerick is impeded by 
the rapids; but a canal is cut in two places, so as to enable 
both towns to keep up water-communication. And here a 
sad mortification befel us : we had fully reckoned on an 
excursion through Loch Derg, a noble expansion of the 
Shannon, bordered on its eastern coast by Munster, on 
the western by Connaught. It properly came within the 
limits we had assigned to ourselves, but the weather set 
in just at this point so steadily rainy, that we could not 
stir from Killaloe for nearly a week. In the meanwhile 

our friend-, who had agreed to meet us from Dublin, 

wrote to apprize us that he should be at Cashel the day 
succeeding that on which we received his letter; and we 
had but just time to secure a vehicle to take us to Thurles, 
which I particularly wished to see, and make our other 
necessary arrangements before starting. To console us for 
the disappointment of not being able to proceed further 
northward, we had, however, the pleasure of witnessing a 
gradual breaking of the clouds, and the prospect of a good 
journey through Tipperary, which is a pleasant county, 
and in parts remarkably fertile. Richer harvests I never 
saw than those which waved in the breeze by the side of 
our road. After crossing the Shannon from Killaloe, we 
came to Newport, about three miles above Castle Connell, 
situated on a stream which falls into the Shannon. From 



TIPPERARY. 


157 


thence our road was not one of the best; hut it led us 
across a chain of interesting mountains which divides the 
county almost in two ; and on our descent into the vallies 
on the eastern side, we made our way with great readiness 
to Thurles. From this place I knew there were plenty of 
public conveyances to Cashel; we were now again within 
reach of Bianconi’s establishment, and there could be no 
difficulty, so that we availed ourselves of the little time we 
could spare for Thurles. It is not picturesque, though 
pleasant, and I had been disappointed in part of our ride, 
which lay alongside of a branch of the Bog of Allen for 
some miles. Nevertheless as we proceeded in Tipperary, 
I found the reports of its high cultivation were fully borne 
out by what we saw. Large farms inhabited by substan¬ 
tial and wealthy farmers were to be seen round Thurles, 
which is itself a handsome town, boasting some tine new 
buildings,—a Catholic chapel and college, in particular. 
There are upwards of eight thousand inhabitants in 
Thurles; and it is a remarkable place from its insular posi¬ 
tion, being the only town of consequence in a circuit of 
forty or fifty miles ; it supplies the neighbouring districts, 
and conveys the market produce by means of the river 
Suir, upon which it stands, towards Cashel, Clonmel, &c. 
But my principal concern in this part of Tipperary was to 
see the ruins of Holy Cross, certainly one of the finest 
ruined abbeys of which Ireland can boast. We ordered 
one of Bianconi’s cars to be at the door of our inn very 
early in the morning:—these ruins being on the high 
road to Cashel, we could visit them without any digres¬ 
sion ; they stand about three miles from Thurles, and are, 
indeed, well deserving of a far more accurate survey than 
we were able to give them. Their extent, as well as 
their beauty, surprised us; mausoleums, crosses, towers, 
chapels, and arches alternately attracted our attention. 


158 


MUNSTER. 


We saw them in the very early morning light, and no¬ 
thing could be more interesting than the solitary, folorn 
character of this seat of former ecclesiastical grandeur. 
It is curious how, at every turning, one is reminded that 
Ireland was a scene of learning and comparative civiliza¬ 
tion when great part of Europe was sunk in barbarism. 
When we think of Virgilius going forth from her schools, 
ages before Copernicus, to teach the true system of the 
universe, and astound the timid head of Christendom with 
his speculations, it makes this little island rise in one’s 
account surprisingly ; and when a traveller in France sees 
one of the ancient tombs of those men of learning to 
whom “ Ireland gave birth, and the Gallic land a grave,” 
when he finds memorials of Irish scholarship in Lorraine 
and Alsace, in Germany, in Switzerland, in Italy, and 
Sicily, he is apt to think that English pride has somewhat 
under-estimated the claims of the sister-land to considera¬ 
tion. Onward, however, we were obliged to hasten to¬ 
wards Cashel; and this is a ride of great beauty. The 
country on either side is rich, and very thickly populated, 
while the eye is continually led across the fertile plains to 
the singular rock of Cashel, which may be discerned at 
many miles distance. There is nothing in Ireland more 
curious than this rock and its accompaniments, covered 
as its top is with the vestiges of former splendour, beauti¬ 
ful in decay. 

At the inn we found our friend, and in the warmth of 
greetings, and the multitude of our communications we 
passed great part of our afternoon ; but in the evening we 
sallied forth, determined to see the sun set from the top 
of the'Rock of Cashel. We first, by permission, entered 
the archbishop’s garden. This is a lovely domain, from 
whence a private way communicates to the rock. We 
ascended it, and were truly lost in admiration at the 


CASHEL. 


159 


beautiful and interesting objects around us. The ruins 
themselves, those of the ancient cathedral and chapel in 
which Cormac, the first bishop, preached, nearly cover its 
grass-grown surface. Saxon and Norman arches, and a 
round tower, differing as usual from all the surrounding 
buildings in its form and the material of which it is built, 
crown the singular elevation, and the view is equally ex¬ 
tensive and beautiful. 

I enquired, but could not learn satisfactory tidings of 
the celebrated Psalter of Cashel, said to have been com¬ 
piled in the year 900, in the Irish tongue, by order of 
Cormac, the king and bishop of the province. I should 
like to have seen this curious relic of ancient times, which 
I had understood was in the archbishop’s library; but we 
were not able to obtain admission. We found Cashel a 
pretty town, but not very flourishing : wages are low,— 
only eiglitpence a day without diet, and numbers without 
employment. There are about 1700 inhabitants, and about 
150 Protestant communicants. 

We followed the course of the Suire next morning to 
Cahir, where we breakfasted, on our way to Clonmell. 
This was a beautiful drive; the banks of the Suire are 
every way lovely ; and the fine back-ground of the Gaiter 
mountains to the right complete the picture. The heights 
bordering the river, and clothed with wood are also beauti¬ 
ful, and I should prefer Cahir to many a more renowned 
place as a permanent residence : the whole deep valley of 
the Suire may compete with many a famous Italian vale. 
It is warm and rich, abundantly fruitful in flowers and 
fruits, and I was surprised at the luxuriance of many tender 
evergreens. From Cahir to Clonmell is nine miles ; this, 
as I before stated, is the head-quarters of Bianconi’s car 
establishment, and it is judiciously chosen. I found the 
population in the present year (1835) about 18,000; of whom 


160 


MUNSTER. 


15,000 are Catholics. It is a respectable, thriving town, 
with an intelligent society; and the environs are extremely 
pretty. Several noblemen and gentlemen have their coun¬ 
try seats in the neighbourhood, and the town is well sup¬ 
plied with necessaries and even luxuries for their ac¬ 
commodation : its staple articles of exportation are butter 
and bacon. 

At Clonmell we held a counsel as to our future move¬ 
ments :—my term of absence was drawing to a close, and 
y?t I could not think of leaving Munster without visiting 
Waterford : but in order to do this I meditated giving up 
the idea of returning by Cork at all, though that had been 
my plan from the first. My friend, however, would not 
hear of this; his knowledge of the country enabled him to 
estimate the extent of my loss in giving up Lismore and 
Youghall; and as we could not do both, by his advice, I 
“ let alone” Waterford till the time, whenever that may be, 
when I can again visit Ireland. This being decided, there 
was nothing to do but to face about to the west, and pur¬ 
sue our road to Mitchelstown. Although by so doing we 
retraced our steps a few miles, as far as Caliir, we did not 
regret this; the views going and returning are very dif¬ 
ferent, and the day too was different, and different was the 
hour of the day: the sun was setting behind the Galtee 
range, and the shadows were beautifully thrown upon 
them : then, as we approached Mitchelstown, though twi¬ 
light was deepening on all around, the moon was rising, 
and the same mountains were silvered over by her beams. 
Mitchelstown offered us comfortable quarters, at most 
reasonable prices, and we were in no haste to leave our 
beds next morning, I must confess, being a good deal 
tired. I was the first up, and strolled into Lord Kings¬ 
ton’s grounds, admiring as I walked, except that, I must 
confess, I was not greatly struck with the castle; a large, 


MITCHELSTOWN. 


161 


princely dwelling, no doubt, but heavy, and to my mind 
not a little staring. Coming back I found my companions 
ready for their breakfast, and afterwards for a walk. It 
is no easy matter for pedestrians fully to explore Lord 
Kingston’s grounds, which are very extensive: a moun¬ 
tain lodge possessed by this gentleman, about five miles 
from Mitchelstown, among the Galtee mountains, pleased 
me better than the castle. The situation is delightful:— 
a hill rising out of a hollow,—thick fir-woods, and a 
back-ground of the dark mountains. It is really an 
Alpine scene, the effect of which is heightened by a rush¬ 
ing, dark stream, circling the mount on which the lodge 
stands. 

Mitchelstown has acquired some renown and obtained 
many visitors in the last few years, in consequence of the 
discovery of some curious caves in its neighbourhood, 
which are sometimes called the Kingston caverns. Very 
exaggerated accounts respecting these caves have been 
put forth; but there is no doubt they are curious, and 
even, in a degree, beautiful. After two or three steep 
descents, passed either sliding or by ladders, you enter a 
hall where there are four crystallized pillars reaching 
from the floor to the ceiling, brilliant spars covering the 

bottom; and all the apartments, of which there are several, 

) 

are beautified by graceful folds or festoons of crystalli¬ 
zation. Even in this neighbourhood, which possesses the 
advantage of having Lord Kingston as a landlord, I 
found very great distress, and was greatly struck by 
what I heard of the change for the worse since, from 
family circumstances, these proprietors have been un¬ 
able to expend a large annual income in the country. 
There are about 5000 inhabitants in Mitchelstown, and 
1800 persons have lately been found in a state of nearly 
absolute starvation ! The employment of 1200 labourers 


162 


MUNSTER. 


being suspended, all this misery immediately has followed. 
Rents are not exorbitant, but the demand for labour very 
slack. 

From Mitclielstown we proceeded to Fennoy, which 
looks a larger place than it really is, owing to the exten¬ 
sive barracks, which are spacious enough to contain some¬ 
times several regiments. Owing to this circumstance, I 
suppose, it commands many accommodations and luxuries, 
and has, besides, a genteel neighbourhood. 

I had heard so much of the scenery on the Blackwater, 
with which I here commenced acquaintance, that I was, per¬ 
haps, disappointed in its course, till within a short distance 
of Lismore. Not but that the country is beautiful and well 
cultivated, and adorned with gentlemen’s seats ; but it is 
not till one comes in sight of Lismore Castle that the river 
assumes its most picturesque appearance, and even then 
it is not equal to the exquisite scenery between Lismore 
and Youghall. I shall quote here literally the words of a 
modern traveller, since I despair of finding any more truly 
descriptive of the scene. “The Blackwater,” says Mr. 
Inglis, “both above and below the bridge which leads 
into Lismore, flows through one of the most verdant 
of valleys, just wide enough to show its greenness and 
fertility, and diversified by noble single trees, and fine 
groups. The banks bordering this valley are in some 
places thickly covered, in other places slightly shaded with 
wood. Then there is the bridge itself, and the castle, 
grey and massive, with its ruined and ivy-grown towers, 
and the beautiful tapering spire of the church, and the 
deep, wooded, lateral dells, that carry to the Blackwater 
its tributary streams. Nothing, I say, can surpass in 
richness and beauty the view from the bridge, when at 
evening the deep woods, and the grey castle, and the 
still river are left in shade, while the sun, streaming up 


LISMORE. 


1G3 


the valley, gilds all the softer slopes and swells that lie 
opposite.”* 

Lismore Castle and much of the neighbouring property 
belongs to the Duke of Devonshire. The outward walls 
of the building are ancient, but the interior is recently 
built and laid out, and the grounds are delightful. 

There is another object of interest within a few miles 
of Lismore, which I regretted being unable to visit; it is 
an establishment of Catholics of the order of La Trappe, 
consisting of about fifty members, who possess a farm of 
five hundred and seventy acres of moor and bog-land, a 
great part of which they have reclaimed. The land is not 
absolutely their own, but they have a lease for a hundred 
years, rent free, from a neighbouring gentleman; and the 
veneration of the Catholic tenantry and peasantry for 
the brotherhood is such that in all their farming opera¬ 
tions they can command the services of man and beast, 
gratis, to almost any amount; not that all their work is 
done without pay, for they can afford to remunerate their 
labourers, but as an act of piety many are willing to 
work for them. They are mostly young men,—almost all 
Irish,—a very few English. When their convent is 
finished, and it is no longer necessary for them to com¬ 
municate with their neighbours, they will strictly conform 
to the rules of their order, among which the most promi¬ 
nent is entire silence. 

Though we were unable to visit this singular place, we 
left nothing in the immediate route to Youghall un¬ 
noticed : we saw several fine seats, and agreed in think¬ 
ing the ride from Mitclielstown pre-eminently beautiful. 

* Throughout the whole the eye is feasted by the view of 
the lovely river, as it takes its way, now round bold rocks, 


M 2 


* Inglis, Vol. i. p. 164-5. 


IG4 


MUNSTER. 


then soft, grassy slopes, and decorated pleasure grounds. 
The approach to Youghall is pretty, indeed beautiful, by 
a road which has been cut through the cliff, just above 
the sea, near the mouth of the Blackwater river. So 
many of the Irish towns are situated at the bottom of 
deep creeks, or some little way up the rivers, that it is 
rare to meet with one commanding an unobstructed view 
of the sea. Such a view has this road, which is, therefore, 
a favourite walk with the inhabitants of Youghall. The 
town itself is old, and many venerable ruins appear 
mixed up with the more modern erections : the church is 
a large, ancient, massy building, and the view from the 
church-yard very fine ; but my son and I were most 
anxious to visit Myrtle Grove, the residence of Sir Wal¬ 
ter Raleigh, who was once Mayor of Youghall: it ad¬ 
joins the church-yard, and retains its venerable character. 
Through the kindness of the present proprietor we were 
admitted to see the interior ; and we found a profusion of 
oak wainscoting, and fine carved work. On repairing this 
house, a Bible, one of the oldest printed ones extant, was 
found built up in the wall. 

But we did not wholly neglect the state of Youghall 
and its neighbourhood, with reference to its commercial 
prosperity, and the means of livelihood afforded to the 
poor labourer. With regard to the first point, there is a 
considerable export trade, particularly in corn, cattle, 
and butter; its imports are chiefly timber, culm, and 
coal; but the labourer is poorly paid by eight-pence a day, 
when he has to furnish £2 per annum rent for a very 
mean cabin ; nor, indeed, can he raise the sum in money : 
the landlord’s hope, therefore, is in his labour ;—for sixty 
days’ labour he may be housed :—his other requirements 
are but scantily served. Coal costs him from tenpence to 
one shilling per week. “We buy it,” said a poor man, 


YOUGHALL. 


165 


“ by the stone; sometimes two stones for three-pence half¬ 
penny. I walk, yer Honour,” continued the same man, 
“ six miles a day, to and from my work, every day.” 

“But cannot you have your dinner sent you? Why 
come home to it ?” 

“ It would be too bad to eat cold potatoes in a wet 
ditch : no, it is worth the walk. I am hired regular at 
eight-pence a day; sufficient of potatoes for us all would 
cost one and nine-pence to two shillings a week. We have 
a pig, which my wife earned from the master, making hay, 
and we feed her on potatoe-skins and bran. We shall sell 
her for a pound, and she cost us fourteen shillings.” 

“Do you never contrive money for a little whiskey, 
Pat ?” 

“ Is it whiskey ? I did not taste a drop these ten weeks, 
—not at my own expense ; two or three glasses were 
given me. I have a son and daughter married. The 
poorest man marries soonest, if he have but the marriage 
money: it was twenty-five shillings my son had to pay, 
so he did not marry so soon as if it had been twenty 
shillings.” 

“Now tell me, Pat, is it not true that the priests en¬ 
courage early marriages for the sake of the fees ?” 

“ Mayhap they do ; but then I can tell yer Honour this, 
that here in Ireland half the country would run to get 
married if there were no marriage money !* It is not bad 
for the young at all that the priests ask so much !” 

“ And what do you pay for your christenings and 
churcliings ?” 

“ Both together, three tenpennies !” 

“ And funerals ?” 

“We don’t pay the priest for the berrin\ —only for the 
* “ Selections from Evidence,” &c. p. 249/ 


166 


MUNSTER. 


anointin’; but it always costs much to have a body waked , 
—even a little child. I had a little one died just sixteen 
weeks old : and though we could ill spare it, we had the 
wake as usual. Two nights and a day the people were 
in the house, and we burnt mould-candles, and there was 
smoking all night.” 

u And no drinking ?” 

<c Not a drop, yer Honour ! I’ll stake my life, only the 
’baccy to keep us from falling asleep. It cost us some¬ 
where about five-and-sixpence that wake.” 

I thought these details worth noting down, as showing 
the mixture of poverty and extravagance in these poor 
creatures’ expenditure: they may starve and go half- 
naked ; but on no account will they omit the wake. 

Our acquaintance with the poor of Ireland seems little 
likely to terminate, if the state of things above described 
is to continue. No wonder the miserable creatures pre¬ 
sent themselves at the doors of our English farm-houses, 
and proffer their labour for whatever price it will fetch ! 
and no wonder I am come back to my home, after what I 
have seen, doubly willing to do the little I can to help 
them; but, alas! such aid is but a drop of balm poured into 
an ocean of misery ; and here we are, after all the moving 
pictures which have been given of the distress, no nearer 
towards a remedy. For my own part, my children and 
friends will be apt to wish I had never paid this visit, for 
let our conversation begin where it may, it seems likely for 
some time to end in Ireland. If we speak of past times, 
of the trials and sufferings of older nations, still what 
nation has been bruised and broken like this ? If political 
economy be the subject of discussion, from what land 
can we derive such warnings ? and, further still, if reli¬ 
gion be the theme, what country furnishes more em¬ 
phatic lessons to rulers and people ? 


YOUGHALL. 


167 


But I will stay my moralizing. The most cheering 
part of the consideration is, that so many hearts and 
minds are alive and aroused to energy on the subject. 
May that energy be well and prudently directed; and we 
will not yet despair of the peace of this lovely land ! 







































u 


DOWN. 

ANTRIM. 

LONDONDERRY, 

DONEGAL. 


L S T E R. 


[Counties—Nine.] 


TYRONE. 

ARMAGH. 

MONAGHAN. 

FERMANAGH. 


CAVAN 




JOURNAL 


OF 

A TOUR IN ULSTER. 


My travels in the South of Ireland having afforded me 
much matter for interesting reflection, I still felt dissatis¬ 
fied with the state of my knowledge of that country. I 
heard from various quarters that Munster differed widely 
from the northern provinces ; that Ulster might be called 
Protestant Ireland; and that by visiting it I should be able 
to judge how great had been the effect of the introduction 
of a purer faith into this country. 

I confess I was inclined to suspect that there were other 
causes to which this superiority might be attributed. I 
wished to know the rate of wages, the quantity and con¬ 
stancy of employment, and a variety of other particulars ; 
for it did not appear to me that there was any thing in the 
one form of religion which must certainly entail misery and 
beggary, nor in the other which should invariably bring 
prosperity. 

The summer succeeding that on which I visited Mun¬ 
ster, business most unexpectedly called me into Scotland. 
I had no particular wish to extend my travels there be¬ 
yond the necessity of the case ; for some years before this 
time, I had made myself pretty well acquainted with both 
highlands and lowlands; but the circumstance of being 



172 


•ULSTER. 


brought very near Port Patrick, within a short passage of 
the very part of Ireland I desired to visit, tempted me, and 
with my younger boy, who on this occasion was my com¬ 
panion, I crossed to Donagliadee, the usual place of land¬ 
ing, by the steamer. From hence to Belfast is about 
twenty miles by the shortest road, but I preferred coast¬ 
ing the loch, and was well repaid by a beautiful ride, with 
fine wood and water-views the whole way. The houses, 
too, were neat, and even elegant; country villas standing 
on rising grounds, sloping to the broad, winding lake, and 
sometimes neat clustered villages, much frequented as 
bathing-places. "When I heard one of these called Ban¬ 
gor, my mind went back at once to very ancient times. 
“ This,” I said to myself, u perhaps is the very Bangor or 
Banchor often confounded with the place of the same 
name in Wales which gave birth to Pelagius.” I believe 
I was not wrong; and over the waters was Carrick Fergus, 
celebrated also in ancient Irish story. 

I was struck on my arrival at Belfast with its un-Irish 
appearance. Here is a town scarce half a century old,— 
the commercial parts date at a later period even than that. 
Think that, seventy-eight years ago, this place had only 
8,000 inhabitants, and now behold it with a population of 
65,000. Enquire about the rate of wages—you find labour 
by no means superabundant, and eagerly paid for at the 
rate of one-and-threepence per day. On all sides are to 
be seen manufactories or mills, vying with the very best at 
Manchester.The linen trade, the calico trade, the mus¬ 
lin trade, all employ multitudes of hands : the rate of pay 
varies in all these. Boys employed in the bleaching- 
grounds earn from three shillings to four shillings and 
sixpence a week; girls in the flax-spinning mills from two 
shillings to four shillings ; and the men who are employed 
as weavers perhaps about eight shillings. These are low 


BELFAST. 


173 


wages as compared with English, no doubt, bnt compared 
with those of the Irish in general are good ; and it is to be 
observed that the labour of boys and girls is well paid ; a 
large family is rather an addition to prosperity than a 
drawback. There are also very many women employed 
in working muslins for the English market; and the ship¬ 
ping, ship-building, &c., besides the business of the export, 
are constant sources of employment. Take into account, 
too, the number of masons, carpenters, &c., constantly 
busied in enlarging and building new houses, manufac¬ 
tories, &c., and it will be readily conceived that at Belfast 
there is no occasion for willing hands to be idle. Yet I 
see not what all this has to do with the religion of the peo¬ 
ple : they are, in a great degree, a different race; they are 
of modern Scotch descent; they have brought in the 
hardy, industrious, shrewd, calculating spirit of that peo¬ 
ple ; they are far-sighted and provident. The landlord 
does not gripe his tenants, for he feels the bad policy of 
such conduct. The tenant having scope allowed for im¬ 
provement, does improve. The landlord in the north 
minds his business; he is close in his application, looks into 
the real state of his workman’s affairs; while the mer¬ 
chant of Cork will only trouble himself so far with business 
as to earn the needful, and let the rest take its chance. I 
found no hunting parties at Belfast. There was no deep 
drinking, no carousals; but sober, brisk activity, good 
sense, and a shrewd attention to interest. I should have 
been better pleased to say truth with the inhabitants of Bel¬ 
fast, if they had not appeared to me to pique themselves on 
being as little like the native Irish as possible. I willingly 
concede that there is difference enough to give them very 
high advantages, if they use them with temperance. It is, 
however, painful, to see the native inhabitants of the soil 
often rejected as tenants merely because they are so. Dis- 


174 


ULSTER. 


tant landlords have no opportunities of investigating for 
themselves; and an English or Scotch agent, coming over 
with plenty of prejudice and partiality, is sure to give the 
preference to his own. This, no doubt, has, in some si¬ 
tuations, occasioned a great degree of bitterness between 
the Irish and the Scotch and their descendants. When 
the Catholic looks from his barren bit of land, at the 
warm, sheltered allotments of the Protestants and Presby¬ 
terians, he is naturally inclined to jealousy, even though 
he may own that his neighbour’s thrifty character is de¬ 
servedly held at a higher per centage. Moreover, we are 
not to estimate as absolutely worthless the ancient asso¬ 
ciations of a people. I will not say that the Irish peasant 
can know any thing of his real claims to precedence over 
the more modern Scotch ; but the better informed among 
them are well aware of their higher antiquity: they , the 
native Scots, the progenitors of-the colonists in the nor¬ 
thern parts of Britain, well understand their claims ; they 
can number up, too, the seats of learning they established 
in the land they thus colonized—the holy men they sent 
to preach all they knew of Christianity—the abbeys and 
monasteries with which they covered the western isles: 
they are proud of the comparative light and learning they 
used to possess ; they know their own native language to 
be the oldest among the still-spoken languages of the 
north, and have annals written in that tongue of earlier 
date than those of any other northern nation. And even 
grant the northern Irish to be forgetful of traditions like 
these, there are things written in histories of far more re¬ 
cent times which they can scarcely either forget or for¬ 
give. It is not now much more than two centuries ago, 
since their forefathers, the O’Neils and O’Donnels, were 
driven out of Ulster, and their estates partitioned by the 
crown among the Scotch and English, part being held by 


BELFAST. 


175 


a sort of company in London, whose business it was to 
form plantations , as they were called, which should, as far 
as possible, exclude the ancient race from any interest in 
the country of their fathers. The manifest hardships of 
this case, and the manner in which they beheld their lands 
made an object of barter by the rapacious English, might 
well irritate the people; and it is not to be wondered 
at if they struggled long in defence of their claims; but 
even these might have been forgotten, and the breach 
healed, by the sacrifice of a few powerful chieftains, had it 
not been for the peculiar aspect of those times with regard 
to religious opinions. The plantations made in the reign 
of James the First and his successor were chiefly formed 
from men who had drunk deep of the Presbyterian spirit, 
and who regarded with feelings of unmixed abhorrence 
the religion of the many in Ireland. Hence, when civil 
war began, and again after the Restoration, all the 
hope of the ancient Irish was turned towards the mo- 
narchs who were believed to be at heart favourable to Po¬ 
pery. Their loyalty to the Stuarts was the instinct of 
self-preservation. The men of the north were fighting 
against a narrow, bigoted set of intruders upon their 
country, who held them in abomination; these, in their 
turn, struggled bravely and successfully, thanks to our 
third William : but something may well be forgiven to the 
people who refuse to hail Him as a benefactor who gave 
the finishing stroke to the triumph of those they regarded 
as interlopers. 

The few days we passed at Belfast were neither unpro¬ 
fitable nor unpleasant. We visited the Linen Hall, the 
Academical Institution, and various chapels and churches. 
I ought to mention the Institution more particularly, for it 
richly deserves praise. There is a school and college, 
both providing a most liberal and extensive system ot 


176 


ULSTER. 


education. It is most sought after by dissenters of the 
Presbyterian persuasion, and its certificates rank with a 
degree of M. A. from the Scotch universities ; but I found 
the sons of Churchmen and Catholics there, and was glad 
to see that it was possible to render it useful to persons of 
all parties. We also found that Belfast abounded in sci¬ 
entific and literary associations, and spent what time we 
had to spare most pleasantly with two or three very intel¬ 
ligent families to whom I had letters of introduction. 

It was soon, however, time for us to proceed on our 
northward route. We proposed coasting it to the Giant’s 
Causeway, and accordingly passing through Carrick Fer¬ 
gus, whose fine old castle, on a nearer view, struck me yet 
more than at first, we came to Larne. There is a plan 
in agitation for making this the port of embarkation for 
Scotland instead of Donaghadee, and of crossing to Loch 
Ryan instead of Port Patrick, a distance of thirty-three 
miles, but supposed to be more favourable for the trade of 
Glasgow. 

I was extremely struck, while travelling this road, with 
the number of antiquities, the old churches, ruins of mo¬ 
nasteries, &c. Even on the little islands of the sea are 
the remains of abbeys, churches, and all scenes of the 
past glory of the ancient Irish Church. The Gobbins, 
stupendous rocks, rising almost perpendicularly about two 
hundred feet from the sea, and stretching near a mile 
along the coast, possess several of these remains ; and to 
me they were also interesting from the immense flocks of 
birds which build their nests in the natural cavities of the 
precipice, and which, when once roused, make a tremen¬ 
dous uproar, scarcely to be deadened by the sound of the 
sea in its fury. The whole of this northern coast is wild, 
cold, and stern ; but I should not think, from all I could 
gather, that it equals in grandeur the north-west of Ire- 


BALLYCASTLE. 


177 


land, nor certainly in beauty that of Munster. Bally- 
castle was my next stage from Larne, passing by Glen- 
arm. The old road here was one of immense difficulty to 
cattle ; it used to wind up and down the rocks, to ascend 
and descend the most frightful hills; but the engineers 
employed to construct a new and safer way have spared 
no pains to overcome difficulties. They have had to cut 
away huge cliffs of limestone, to fill up valleys, and to 
guard against perils from rocks above and waters below ; 
and they have constructed what, when complete, will be 
one of the finest roads in the United Kingdom. We were 
much struck with the situation of Glenarm, at the bottom 
of a deep glen, through which runs a brawling rivulet 
which falls into the sea close by the village; one side of 
the glen being covered by the castle and woods and park 
of the Antrim family. The finest part, however, of this 
stage, was that in which the sea-view opens within about 
two miles of Ballycastle, and you come in sight of Fair- 
head or Benmore, a promontory five hundred and fifty 
feet above the level of the sea, composed of vast basaltic 
columns, many of which extend out a great way under 
water, seaward. This whole promontory, together with a 
passage or cleft in the rock, across which a huge fragment 
has fallen, making a sort of bridge called “ Grey Man’s 
Path,” is certainly very sublime. Between this and the 
town lie the collieries, which, though not now very pro¬ 
ductive, have perhaps hardly been fairly worked; added 
to which, the turbulence of the sea at this part of the 
coast has formed an obstacle to ready exportation of the 
commodity. There is a very remarkable fact connected 
with these collieries, which has occasioned great specula¬ 
tion. It was in the year 1770 that the miners, while open¬ 
ing a vein at Ballycastle Cliff, broke through the rock into 
a very narrow passage: it appeared that there was an open- 


178 


ULSTER. 


ing of some extent beyond it, and the men not being able 
to force themselves in, sent in two lads, as a stout master- 
sweep compels his poor little ’prentice to mount the narrow 
shaft of a chimney. The lads had candles, and made their 
way for some time, but at length came to a complete laby¬ 
rinth of branching passages, among wdiich the poor fellows 
were bewildered and lost. Their lights soon burnt out, and 
their voices, now quite hoarse with shouting for help, could 
do them no further service: there, then r they sat down, 
despairing of escape from this miserable dungeon. The 
workmen, however, alarmed at their non-appearance, set 
to work to open the passage, and several of them entered ; 
but the two lads were still too far away to hear their noise 
and shouting. One long day and one night did they re¬ 
main thus buried in the heart of Benmore; but their 
friends still persevered in their search through the night 
as well as the day. At length, one of the party thought 
he heard a noise, like that of a hammer striking the 
rocks : he listened and heard it again ; then he bethought 
him of making a like sound in reply: to his great satis¬ 
faction this was answered; and, guided by the noise, he and 
his party of miners followed the windings of a passage till 
they came to the chamber where the two poor prisoners 
were found, much exhausted by confinement and hunger. 
The noise was accounted for by one of them saying that 
when he found himself too hoarse to cry out any longer, 
he had recollected that the sound of the miners’ hammers 
is often heard at a great distance, and he took up a stone 
and struck the sides of the rocks with it, in order to pro¬ 
duce the same effect. It may well be conceived that it 
was a pleasant thing to them to behold the rising sun that 
morning, when led out of their gloomy cave. But now be¬ 
gan the real wonder of the place. It was found, on close 
examination, that these passages and chambers were not 


BALLYCASTLE. 179 

I 

of nature’s workmanship, but that they had been wrought 
out by men’s hands at some very distant period. It was a 
regular, extensive mine, and had been worked with skill 
and sagacity by their predecessors. Some remains of tools 
were found, even of baskets, though in such a decayed 
state that they crumbled to pieces as soon as touched. 
Small pieces of iron were also found, which seemed to 
prove that these ancient miners were acquainted with 
the uses of that metal. There is not the most remote tra¬ 
dition of coal-works in this part of the country; and some 
who have written on the subject deny the probability of 
any such having been carried on later than the eighth 
century! 

In Ballycastle are some memorials of one of those men 
whose 

“ Good is oft interred with their bones,” 

while every one has something to tell of the blemishes 
which rendered that good less effective than it might have 
been. Mr. Boyd, a worthy individual of small fortune, 
and not shining abilities, is the hero of Ballycastle. He 
devoted himself and all his powers to the improvement of 
this part of Ireland : he constructed roads, formed a har¬ 
bour, built a town, established manufactures, and certainly 
brought a wild and lawless region into a state of cultiva¬ 
tion, order, and comparative prosperity, by means of im¬ 
mense personal exertion. The collieries were opened by 
him, and a glass manufactory for awhile prospered; but 
from some errors in his management, and a variety of un¬ 
toward circumstances, all these things went to decay as 
soon as he expired. He lived to see a chapel, the favourite 
work of his last years, completed; but by a singular con¬ 
currence of circumstances, it was not actually opened for 
public service till the funeral of its founder. 

I was curious about the island of Raghery or Rathlin, 

n 2 


180 


ULSTER. 


which lies out at sea, about six or seven miles from the 
Antrim coast, just opposite Ballycastle. I knew that in 
former times this bare and chalky island had afforded re¬ 
fuge to Robert Bruce, though even here his enemies pur¬ 
sued him, and obliged him to put out to sea in his little skiff 
once more. I desired the waiter at the little inn to pro¬ 
cure me a boat, and finding the passage (which is often 
very dangerous) could be safely attempted, we set out the 
afternoon of my arrival at Ballycastle. The boat seemed 
very unfit to encounter the heavy rolling swell which sets 
in between Ratlilin and the coast, for it was built of the 
slightest materials, and I observed that a good deal of 
water entered it. But our guide and boatman assured me 
there was not the slightest danger, as not a breath of wind 
was stirring; and with regard to the water, he coolly took 
off his brogue and began to bale it out of the boat, soon 
clearing the vessel, and then putting the brogue upon his 
foot again with the utmost indifference. I looked ..at 
Henry, fearing he might be somewhat timid on the occa¬ 
sion, for even in this beautiful and calm afternoon the 
long rolling waves from the Atlantic as they broke upon 
Benmore hid that lofty promontory from our sight. "We 
afterwards found that all depended on the state of the 
tide. In a few hours came the ebb, and the return of this 
body of water to the ocean in opposition to the great 
western swell occasioned a most boisterous commotion— 
the stoutest boats then would not venture out. Twice 
every day, independent of storms and breezes, is there 
thus alternate peace and war upon this coast; and it is by 
observation of these circumstances that passages can be 
made in safety. Henry was, I found, quite as eager after 
Ratlilin as myself. We got safely over in about two hours 
and a half, and landed nearly opposite Ballycastle. ' The 
island is five miles in length, but little more than three 


RAGHERY ISLAND. 


181 


quarters in breadth, yet this surface maintains from 1200 
to 1300 inhabitants. The western end is craggy and moun¬ 
tainous, hut the valleys between the mountains are rich 
and well cultivated. The east end is more barren, but 
more open and accessible, has some convenient harbours, 
and many of its inhabitants are fishermen. Native Irish 
continues to be the language of the western end, while at 
the other the English is well understood and frequently 
used. We crossed the island to Bruce’s castle, the place 
in which the Scotch hero made his defence, and in doing so 
made our observations on what was before us. There was 
some good cultivated land, on which barley was growing; 
and we observed the sheep, a small race, but celebrated as 
to the quality of their flesh ; the horses, too, were small, 
but strong and serviceable. As for the people, we found 
them a simple, plain race, much attached to their island, 
and regarding Ireland as a foreign kingdom, with which 
they have no connexion except in the way of trade : they 
have both Catholic and Protestant ministers, being divided 
in religious faith. I should not omit to mention the kelp 
trade as one principal resource of the natives : this is 
chiefly manufactured by women and children, and nearly 
pays the rent of the whole island in good seasons ; but be¬ 
sides this, the fishermen and fowlers earn a tolerable live¬ 
lihood by their laborious occupations. 

“ It is almost unnecessary for me to give any account of 
the dangers and hardships of the poor fowlers in their pur¬ 
suit of the sea-birds’ eggs : so many writers have described 
these perils that they are familiar to every reader; no 
one, however, who has not looked up or down upon one of 
these tremendous rocks rising out of the sea, and actually 
seen human beings suspended by ropes, swinging them¬ 
selves from one ledge to another, while the noisy birds 
are screaming over them, and the sea roars in concert be- 


182 


ULSTER. 


low, can have an idea of the awful nature of the employ¬ 
ment. Nor is the salmon-fishing at Carrick-a-Rede less 
formidable; and I must describe this, for my son and I 
were particularly struck and interested by the whole 
scene, which is totally unlike any thing I ever witnessed. 
There is one time in the year when the salmon-fish comes 
along the coast in search of the different rivers in which it 
casts its spawn. This fish, guided by unerring instinct, 
keeps in as close as it can to the shore, that it may not 
miss the opening of the rivers, and it is very important to 
the fishermen to intercept it, if possible, in some narrow 
passage or channel; but there is no such place on this 
coast, except the rock called Carrick-a-Rede. A strait of 
about sixty feet in breadth intervenes between this rock 
and the main land; and the little island is inaccessible, 
except at one point, where a fisherman’s cot is built; but 
even here it is impossible to land, unless the weather be 
extremely calm. The fishermen every summer, therefore, 
make a bridge of ropes across to this rock; they lay 
planks along the ropes, fastening them with strong cords, 
and thus form a pathway just wide enough for a man to 
go, but one which swings about in the wind, and is most 
frightful to contemplate as a bridge for the passage of 
human beings. Here we saw the fishermen spread their 
nets and drag them to the shore, and witnessed several 
draughts of most beautiful fish brought to land. One of 
these fishermen possessed a dog, a most sagacious ani¬ 
mal, so trained as to be of great assistance in driving the 
salmon towards the net. Of course we now proceeded to 
the Giant’s Causeway, and a most curious and interesting 
spectacle it certainly is; but to me, who had seen Staffa, it 
was, I confess, disappointing:—the basaltic columns, their 
clustered beauty, the immense assemblage of them piled 
one upon another, is certainly a very remarkable sight. 


WEST COLERAINE. 


183 


but I should say that it may be so well represented by pic¬ 
tures or models, that the person who has seen the latter 
will not find any thing grand or very striking in the ori¬ 
ginal. But perhaps we are unreasonable, and expect 
everywhere the same kind of impressiveness, which is not 
according to the order of nature. Nothing, certainly, can 
be more truly wonderful than the regularity of these 
jointed columns, fitted one into the other with the 
most perfect correctness. Afterwards, when I saw the 
neighbouring promontory of Pleaskin, I was extremely 
struck with the effect of these columns when they form, 
as here, several steps or terraces separated by irregular 
rocks, this separation adding relief and distinctness to the 
whole. 

Plenry and I had by this time seen nearly enough 
of the coast : we did not, therefore, go to Port Bush, 
a pretty watering-place, but turned our heads towards 
West Coleraine, which is in Londonderry; and here we 
found all hands as busy, though on a smaller scale, as 
at Belfast. The linen trade was employing many people, 
and much flax is of course grown in the fields. The 
corn crops seemed to testify to the goodness of the soil, 
although the land was not cultivated in the very best 
manner, and rents were not exorbitant, but such as to 
admit of the farmers earning a living, though certainly 
not a fortune. I was now travelling towards London¬ 
derry, a town I had long very particularly desired to 
see; I had always been told that it was the most pic¬ 
turesque town of the United Kingdom, Edinburgh alone 
excepted: I was impatient, therefore, to reach it, and 
judge for myself, and halted not long at the town of 
Newton Limovaddy, on our way from Coleraine, though 
pleased with this place, which has really a thriving neigh¬ 
bourhood, and is most agreeably situated. It is very near 


184 


ULSTER. 


the right bank of Loch Foyle, another of Ireland’s great 
lakes, which, lioAvever, is not on this side very picturesque 
or striking, as we pursued our way to Londonderry. How¬ 
ever, when we drew near the latter place, the lake be¬ 
came an estuary, spread out between fine wooded slopes, 
and was still further contracted in the river Foyle, which, 
yet a fine and broad stream, sweeps round one side of the 
steep hill on which the town stands. We were travelling 
in one of the jaunting-cars of the country, and had there¬ 
fore a full view of all that was to be seen ; and I soon 
found that my accounts of Londonderry were in no way 
exaggerated. The first view is exceedingly striking:— 
situated on a steep mount, from all sides of which there is 
a rapid descent, at the head of Loch Foyle ; its tall cathe¬ 
dral spire rising in the midst. At high-water I really 
know not a town that, with all its accompaniments of hill 
and dale, wood and water, is so magnificent in situation: 
—it is not Loch Foyle alone that is beheld from the 
ramparts, or eminences around, the eye reaches to Loch 
Swilly ; and the manner in which the buildings of the 
city are grouped adds to the picturesque effect. The 
cathedral is a large, handsome Gothic structure, standing 
on the highest part of the mount, and retiring from the 
main street; and here are several interesting monuments. 
Among others is one to the memory of Dr. Hamilton, a 
learned, scientific, and liberal man, who fell a sacrifice 
to the fury of a mob some years ago. He was a clergy¬ 
man, and had laboured in his parish with great good¬ 
will, and some success; he had warmly defended the 
Irish against many slanders, and had written elaborately 
on the natural wonders and antiquities of the county 
of Antrim ; but, unfortunately, on one occasion he made 
himself odious to the people, by taking the part of 
government against smuggling. They vowed revenge, 


LONDONDERRY. 


185 


and for some time lie was obliged to leave liis parish, 
and remain in concealment: at length, venturing home, 
he halted for a night at the house of a friend. The 
tidings spread: the house was surrounded, and the mob 
threatened to set it on fire immediately if Dr. Hamilton 
were not given to them: the servants, in the hurry and 
panic, scarcely knowing what they did, complied with 
this request, and the victim was immediately murdered 
by these savages. His remains were brought to Derry, 
and there interred. 

Londonderry is a fortified town, surrounded by a ram¬ 
part, which adds to its, remarkable character. On this 
rampart, a tall, fluted column is shown, erected to the 
memory of the Rev. George Walker, a clergyman who, 
in the year 1G90, defended the city against James the 
Second. * 

Many were the remarkable events of the siege of London¬ 
derry,—perhaps none more so than this :—A clergyman 
seizing the reins of government out of the hands of a weak 
or treacherous commander, and resolving, in co-operation 
with many of his townsmen, to defend the place to the 
last. In Derry were gathered together the boldest among 
the Protestants of the North. They had seen enough of 
the spirit of the Irish Catholics, excited as it was by the 
sense of repeated aggression, to be well aware that, should 
Catholicism again obtain the victory, there would be 
small hopes of their ever again resuming the possession 
they were but beginning to enjoy : many of them were 
influenced by a higher and better feeling, and many by 
the mere fanaticism of the times. Altogether they were 
a battalion of strong, resolved men, and their defence 
was truly heroic. On the other hand, the Catholics had 
a strong cause ; and, if commanded by a more manly and 
generous leader, might have done better things ; but James 


186 


ULSTER. 


the Second never seems to have had the art of infusing a 
grain of additional warmth into those who surrounded 
him. It must not be omitted, as one other remarkable 
point connected with the siege of Derry, that the garrison 
were crowded and encumbered by the presence of 30,000 
fugitives from the neighbouring country, men, women, and 
children. How with such numbers, and only a small store 
of provision, they could have sustained a siege of a hundred 
and five days must always be a marvellous circumstance. 
Towards the conclusion of this period, a most tantalizing 
circumstance occurred:—a fleet of thirty sail was per¬ 
ceived steadily approaching the city over the beautiful 
waters of Loch Foyle, bringing all the people wanted,— 
arms, ammunition, and provisions. Suddenly, and to the 
amazement and bitter disappointment of the besieged, 
these ships, when just, as it were, in port, hauled round, 
spread their sails to windward, and stood out again to¬ 
wards the sea, leaving the hungry and despairing garri¬ 
son to endure the pangs of disappointment. At length, 
after enduring hardships and sufferings almost incredible, 
the number of the garrison being reduced from 8000 
to 4000, and numbers of the needy multitude having 
perished, supplies found their way into the city, and the 
king’s general broke up his camp, and raised the siege in 
despair, leaving the brave surviving victors to glory in 
their successful heroism. Walker did not return to the 
peaceful pursuits of his profession : having obtained, of 
course, great celebrity among the Protestant party, he 
appears from this time to have been much consulted in 
military and civil affairs, and he fell fighting at the Battle 
of the Boyne. 

I found here more of the spirit of party than I had yet 
seen, ihe guide who showed us about was an Orange¬ 
man, who seemed to regard the Catholics of our day 


LONDONDERRY. 


187 


exactly as if they were the Jacobites of 1C90. He ap¬ 
peared to me rather to wish for an opportunity of bring¬ 
ing them to open warfare with the Protestants. Henry 
observed that he did not point out the memorials of Pro¬ 
testant success as matters of history, hut as tributes to his 
own Orange vanity and partizansliip. Such a person as 
this it was hardly worth arguing with; but I was really 
chagrined when a gentlemanly townsman came up, and 
chimed in with him, echoing and exceeding every illiberal 
sentiment. “ I have served my country well, and I like 
rest and cpiiet; but yet, I do assure you, sir, I should not 
be sorry to see c a good sound rebellion ’ in Ireland : that 
is the only thing to bring us to a right state ;—the Catho¬ 
lics must lose thousands and millions before there is peace 
in Ireland :—an open rebellion, and an English army to 
put the rascals down, would do the business at once!” 
Then he ran into a most furious triade against the Mel¬ 
bourne ministry. Lord Mulgrave and Lord Morpeth were 
traitors, infidels,—no name was too bad for them : the 
Education Board was an atheistical device :—and Orange¬ 
men and Orange-lodges were the only instruments for 
the regeneration of Ireland. 

Henry coloured and bit his lip, and struggled with his 
indignation, and I gave him a look intimating my wish 
that he should be quiet, while I steadily, and with the 
respect I felt due to a gentleman, expressed my entire 
dissent from him. I said I had inspected the schools, 
talked with many of the priests, and with not a few of 
the clergy of our own church ; that in the wildest parts of 
the south I had found the clergyman, if a man of exem¬ 
plary character, was respected and attended to ; and that 
I knew of more than one instance in which, when a priest 
had improperly interfered with the Church of England 
pastor, the people had expressed themselves decidely 


188 


ULSTER. 


against him. I did not of course deny the excesses of 
which the Irish had been guilty, nor palliate them ; but 
owned my steady conviction that they had never till with¬ 
in a short period received a fair measure ot even justice 
from the English. 

To all this my acquaintance only replied by anathemas 
against the Church of Rome, and all who supported her 
idolatrous and intolerant principles. I pointed out to 
him the intolerant passages which still disgrace our own 
canons, and asked him how he would like a stranger to 
form his opinion of the Church of England from them. 
Of these he appeared ignorant ; and I found him so 
hopelessly bent on viewing every thing through a party 
medium alone, that I soon dropped the discourse. 

The harbour of Londonderry is a very fine one; vessels 
of six hundred tons burden come up to the quays at high 
tides. The trade of the place is large and increasing : be¬ 
sides the linen trade, the exports of grain, flax, and butter, 
keep a great many hands employed. The great bulk of 
the more respectable people are Protestant, either Presby¬ 
terian, Church, or Methodists: the lower orders, as else¬ 
where, Catholic. In the town I saw scarce any beggars; 
and at first was in hopes there really were not many ob¬ 
jects of distress in the neighbourhood ; but I found there 
was no such happy exemption, and that the freedom of 
Derry itself was owing to a mendicity society, and some 
rather severe enactments put in force in the place itself. 
The obstinate mendicant is for a second olfence confined in 
the black hole for twenty-four hours, without food : for a 
first he is merely driven away; and if proved at last to be 
a hopeless vagrant, who will not submit to any conditions 
of relief, has even been transported. The beadles, who 
have acquired the name of “ Bangbeggars,” have but an 
uneasy life in Londonderry. The poorer people, generally 


LOCH SWILLY. 


189 


speaking, are opposed to them in the performance of their 
duties towards vagrants, and are ready to tear the bang- 
beggars to pieces when they are arresting them. The 
mendicity society alone enables the magistrates to act 
with this strictness, and this institution is hardly compe¬ 
tent to its work, being unable, from the state of its funds, 
to give full support to the destitute, and of these only 
individuals who have lived two years in the town, and 
can obtain a line of recommendation from a subscriber, 
are admitted. As many as one hundred and seventy-three 
vagrants were taken up in the suburbs of Derry in the 
year 1834; and it is well known that nothing but the 
local discipline applied keeps the numbers down. 

1 should now have preferred taking coach for Donegal, 
as I had been told that to go further north would only 
involve me in difficulties, and that there was little to 
repay me for my trouble ; but one of my Scotch mercan¬ 
tile correspondents addressed a letter to me at Derry, 
earnestly requesting, if I could oblige him without incon¬ 
venience, that I would stretch as far as Buncrana, (a little 
town situated on the right-hand shore of Loch Swilly,) in 
order to see a person connected with him on business;— 
and when there, I was so well pleased with the scenery of 
the lake that I determined to cross it, descend the left 
bank to Letterkenny, and thus, having coasted this fine 
body of w r ater, return into the high road to Donegal. The 
view r s well repaid us for this extended journey :—fine tim¬ 
ber fringes great part of the borders of the lake, and the 
island of Inch, 4000 acres in extent, close to which we 
passed, is covered with refreshing verdure. We had 
crossed the lake at Fahan, a little town about four miles 
from Buncrana, after having fulfilled our errand at the 
latter place, and landing at Rathmullin, on the opposite 
shore, a drenching rain compelled us to halt at a very 


190 


ULSTER. 


poor inn for half the clay: towards evening the sky cleared 
up, and we succeeded in prevailing on the landlord to ac¬ 
commodate us with a sorry vehicle and a wretched horse, 
and so equipped we managed to pursue our course to 
Letterkenny, and to arrive there the same night, though 
very late, and sorely tired with the jolting of our carriage. 
We found, however, that the town, though not large, is a 
place of some consequence in the neighbourhood, and con¬ 
tains many excellent shops, and a fair proportion of the 
comfort s and accommodations of modern genteel life. Lord 
Southwell is its chief patron and benefactor ; and his pro¬ 
perty, and, above all, his mode of managing it, renders 
him universally respected. It was at Letterkenny that, 
by a very singular concurrence of circumstances, our des¬ 
tined route was again changed. We were walking the 
morning after our arrival towards the lake, with the in¬ 
tention of bathing : we arrived at a sheltered little cove, 
where the water appeared particularly cool and refreshing, 
while the beach was firm and clean; and were congratu¬ 
lating ourselves on having found the very spot we wanted, 
when we discovered it to be already occupied. We were 
about to pass on and seek another spot for our bath, when 
my ear was struck by a sound of distress. I ran towards 
the spot, and found it proceeded from a youth who was 
making vain efforts to drag to land some floating body 
heavier and bigger than himself. I am a practised swim¬ 
mer, and it was but a few moments’ work to strip off my 
coat and plunge into the lake, which I did just in time to 
save the life of a fine young man, elder brother, as I 
found, to the youth on the beach. It seems they had 
both been bathing, but had imprudently gone into deeper 
water than usual, and the elder had been seized with 
cramp: the younger, being not quite out of his depth, 
had struggled to land, dragging his brother part of the 


LETTERKENNY. 


191 


way with him ; but all liis efforts to bring him clear out of 
the flood had failed, and he was nearly spent with his en¬ 
deavour to keep his head above water. We were the 
first persons who had passed while the poor youth was in 
this trying situation, and his joy at the sight of us nearly 
took away his power of utterance. We soon succeeded 
in reviving the elder brother ; but both were exhausted 
with the struggles they had made: and my son ran, by 
my direction, to Letterkenny for assistance. Several men 
soon appeared, and we made them carry the young man 
who had been rescued to the inn, according to the direc¬ 
tion of his brother. We found they were the sons of a 
gentleman of Donegal, resident near Dunglo, a small place 
on the coast, due west of Letterkenny; that they had 
been making a summer excursion together, and were 
about to return to their father’s house. Hearty expres¬ 
sions of gratitude for our services were succeeded by such 
earnest entreaties that we would prolong our stay in this 
part of the country, and allow their father an opportunity 
of thanking me himself, and showing us whatever was to 
be seen in their remote district, that I found it impossible 
to resist, especially as my son was delighted with his new 
acquaintance, and joined his request to theirs that we 
would cross the mountains with them the next day ; and 
I must confess I was not without curiosity to see this part 
of the Ulster coast. 

The youths had only each his own strong, rough pony, 
and they advised us to accept the landlord’s offer of two 
animals of the same sturdy breed, assuring us that if we 
wished to traverse this part of the country in any tolerable 
time, we had better not think of any other conveyance. 
We therefore left chief of our luggage, with directions for 
its being forwarded to Donegal, our friends undertaking 
for our conveyance thither from Dunglo,—a guide from 


192 


ULSTER. 


Letterkenny attending us, whose business it was to take 
back our hired poneys when we should have arrived at 
our host’s abode. We found the plan altogether a very 
feasible one, and perhaps no part of our journey was 
more enjoyed. As our young friends (whose names were 
O’Donnell, lineal descendants, they told us, of the ancient 
Icings of that race) proved themselves well acquainted 
with the country, we jogged on through the rugged and 
lonesome passes without any anxiety, and only occupied 
with seeing every thing that was to be seen. It is true we 
encountered some tremendous showers, and one severe 
thunder-storm, and were not always fortunate enough to 
have shelter; but we were all hardy, and travelling on we 
contrived to extract materials for mirth from our little 
misfortunes. The hills were in some places bold, and the 
passes not without a kind of grandeur; the little lakes, 
too, embosomed among them, put me in mind of Words¬ 
worth’s description,— 

\ 

“ In rugged aims how soft they seem to lie! 

How tenderly protected!” 

We scared the wild-fowl from their haunts as we 
brushed past these lonely spots, and we gathered nosegays 
of beautiful mountain flowers, which seemed to live and 
die unseen. Having left this hilly chain, however, a good 
part of what remained of our ride was bare, unpicturesque, 
and boggy; but as we drew near its termination the hills 
again rose, jutting out into the sea ; and we caught 
glimpses of the Atlantic rolling its big waves towards the 
coast. As is frequently the case, however, on the Irish 
coast, there was no unobstructed sea view; islands lay 
thickly scattered all about, and the surge dashing upon 
them made a thundering sound as we approached. Dunglo 
itself is a sequestered little village, situated at the head of 


DUNGLO. 


193 


a creek swarming with islands, called the North Arran 
Isles, the largest of which, Rutland, is three miles distant 
from the main land. Upon this island were formerly 
some government works, which, however, have fallen into 
decay, with the fisheries, which were the object of patron¬ 
age. Here, on the sunny side of a hill, and surrounded 
by plantations of evergreens, stood the house to which we 
were going. It was well screened from the west and 
north by projecting hills, and we found the home prospect 
a remarkably pleasant one ; and here we were welcomed 
with a true Irish welcome by a fine erect specimen of a 
tall Irish gentleman, and by a gentle, lady-like woman, 
the father and mother of the youths, our friends. I saw, 
it is true, at a glance, that some town luxuries would 
probably be wanting,—that the furniture was not of the 
newest, nor the general appearance of the establishment 
fashionable; but, to my infinite pleasure, I soon found 
that Air. O’Donnell was not one of the drinking and fight¬ 
ing squires, once so common in Ireland,—that his guests 
Avere not absolutely forced to take more liquor than was 
agreeable to them,—they were not made prisoners in the 
dining-room, and compelled either to quarrel with the 
host, and enact a duel on the spot, or SAvalloAV as much of 
his port or claret as he thought proper. Here, on the 
contrary, the dinner-hour was four o’clock, and we had 
liberty to retire as soon as we pleased, and enjoy the 
pleasant evening air in the shady garden, or mount the 
hills and catch the sea-breezes. 

My hosts were Catholic, of course an O’Donnell can 
be no less; but they were too well-mannered to make 
their OAvn faith or their own politics the prime subject 
of conversation. And, for my own part, though I felt 
anxious to make use of every opportunity which offered 
for coming at the knowledge of the varying feelings and 

o 


194 


ULSTER. 


opinions prevailing in Ireland, I liave learnt that it is 
absurd in this country, of all others, to expect that one 
party should be able to form a fair opinion of another. 
Thus, much as I liked Mr. O’Donnell, and believed he 
would not willingly misstate any thing to the prejudice of 
another, I was quite aware that I could not trust his ac¬ 
count of the recent proceedings on Achill Island : I knew 
he would, of course, look on conversionary attempts made 
by Church of England clergymen with that mixture of 
irritation which the depressed Catholic many are sure to 
feel towards the triumphant Protestant few, and which 
goads them on and makes them wield the weapons of 
annoyance they possess with tenfold energy and effect. 
However, Air. O’Donnell did express some disapprobation, 
I was glad to find, of the language and conduct of some of 
the priests of his religion, and anxiously disclaimed the 
use of every unhallowed weapon. The young men were 
ardent in their wishes for good government, and seemed 
to me well disposed to do their part in their own sphere ; 
they had a civil and well-managed tenantry, poor but not 
beggared, and they did their best to encourage the fishe¬ 
ries on the coast. I visited, but without them, one or two 
clergymen, whom I found to be worthy men, but without 
much energy. Occasionally a zealous pastor had, how¬ 
ever, been placed here, and his labours had not been with¬ 
out fruit. With all my heart I wished such success, 
for the more I see of the Catholic religion, the more 
anxious I am that, wherever it is planted, the Protestant 
faith should have, at least, a fair opportunity of contrast 
and comparison. If I felt this in an early stage of my 
journeys in Ireland, how much more did I feel it when I 
had visited Lough Derg. But of that more in its place. 

We spent two days with our friends at Dunglo; and, 
on the third, the young O’Donnells mounted us on their 


DONEGAL. 


195 


father’s car, and themselves accompanied us to Eillybegs, 
a post-town on the way to Donegal, situated on the bay of 
the same name, and famous for the shoals of herrings 
which visit its coasts. The shores are deeply indented, 
and along our road the young men frequently pointed out 
the ruins of abbeys and castles. Even the little islands 
of the Atlantic abound with these remains, particularly 
the island of Enniskill, which has an ancient chapel and 
holy well, and is a place of as great sanctity as Holy 
Island. 

Once at Ivillybegs, we had no difficulty in finding a car 
to convey us to Donegal, and parted with the O’Donnells 
with no prospect of inconvenience or delay, but with real 
regret, under the idea that we may probably never meet 
again. Their lot seems fixed in their native land; they 
will probably succeed their father in the task of tilling the 
paternal estate, and take their chance of fair and foul 
times. May they find less to lament, and more to awaken 
hope, in the condition of their country every year, and 
may their patriotism never be chilled or polluted by the 
dark streams of hatred and party revenge ! Indepen¬ 
dently of the pleasure our acquaintance with these good 
people afforded us, I was delighted and surprised by the 
beauties of the country into which I had been led. From 
Eillybegs to Donegal it was one succession of beauties :— 
Inver Bay, in particular, is as lovely as any thing I had 
formerly seen in the south ; and Loch Esk, a pretty lake 
within about three miles of the Donegal, is very striking, 
from the fine forms of its boundary mountains, and the 
noble trees near it. Donegal itself, though a small, is a 
neat and improving town, the population being about 1000 
souls : it has a pretty church and chapel, and two or three 
meeting-houses. We were here quite in the O’Donnell 
land. In the market-place stands a beautiful ruined castle, 

o 2 


196 


ULSTER. 


once the residence of the chieftains of that race; and a 
mound rises at a little distance from the town, on which it 
is said they were formerly crowned. If this be so, they 
had excellent taste, and were good judges of effect; for I 
cannot conceive a more kingly-looking station, command- 
ino- a noble view both of the land and ocean. I admired, 
on recalling it to my mind, the quiet manner in which 
the young men had spoken of this site of their ancestors’ 
greatness. Coxcombs would have enjoyed the sight of 
my surprise and admiration at the ruined banqueting halls 
of their fathers, but they had simply recommended me to 
observe the magnificent prospect from its windows, and I 
did so, and thought of them at the moment. Henry was 
still more excited than myself, and half tempted to regret 
that we had formed so imperfect an idea of the birth and 
former consequence of the family of our friends; and I, 
on my part, was not sorry that he should have had an 
opportunity of entering into the feeling of a dispossessed 
Irishman. 

More ancient, however, by far than O’Donnell’s castle, 
was an edifice discovered about three years ago, sunk deep 
in a bog, near Inver. Most people are aware of the value 
of what is called bog-timber, oak, fir, beech, yew, and holly, 
which are often found at' a considerable depth, and which, 
whether for building or furniture, are invaluable; in the 
latter case taking a beautiful polish. In searching for 
these, which is done by probing the bog with long iron 
rods, they came upon this building, the roof of which was 
fiat and composed of broad oak planks, strongly put to¬ 
gether, about twelve feet in length. The building was 
divided into two rooms by a second floor at about the half 
of its height. A sort of stone chisel was found near, 
which appears to have been used in the workmanship of 
the building; a paved way was also discovered leading 


LOUGH DERGH. 


107 


from the house. No iron appeared to have been used in 
any part of the edifice, which was evidently unfinished, 
and, it is probable, was suddenly overwhelmed by the flow¬ 
ing of some neighbouring bog upon it, a circumstance 
which is not without example even in our day. At all 
events the antiquity of this dwelling is indisputable, and 
probably extends beyond any of our historical records of 
Ireland. 

And now we were to visit Lough Dergh, the crack scene 
of Irish Catholic superstition, and to witness for ourselves 
the doings of Patrick’s Purgatory. It seemed as if nature 
had put on her darkest array, as best suited to the gloomy 
haunt we were to visit, for black clouds rolled sternly up 
in our faces, and threatening winds began to sigh and howl 
around us. We had nothing for some time in view but 
bog,—to the right, to the left, before, behind, bog only: 
it was not all level ground ; there were hills, some steep 
ones ; and we got on the sides of these : but here we were 
deceived, for here, too, was bog. 

It was a perfect scramble as we drew nearer the lake; 
and our guide told us the priests were not desirous of 
making a better road, the present way being more suit¬ 
able, I suppose, to the penitential frame of the real pil¬ 
grims, and better fitted to deter idle and curious heretics. 

I should have said before, that, like true pilgrims, we 
had resolved to make the journey on foot. We left Done¬ 
gal, it is true, on a car; but when arrived at the place 
where a path branches off' to the lake, we sent on our 
vehicle to Pettigo, and took our chance for the rest; not, 
however, without the precaution of loading our guide with 
our umbrellas, and a cloak apiece. After walking about 
three miles, we found abundant reason to rejoice at this 
act of prudence, for surely never did I behold such a 
deluge of rain as suddenly poured down upon us from the 


108 


ULSTER. 


opening clouds. We were entering a sort of gorge among 
the hills, through which the wind rushed, bringing the 
torrent along with it in our faces, as if through a funnel. 
We were obliged to turn right about, and creep under the 
projecting shelter of a friendly rock. For a full hour this 
went on, and we remained prisoners, certain of being 
soaked to the skin if we went backward or forward ; yet 
so chilled and uncomfortable in our nook, that we finally 
resolved upon moving on as the least hazardous measure 
of the two. Our cloaks did us pretty good service; but 
no umbrella could stand the force of such a gale as that, 
On, hoAvever, we went, and soon we found ourselves not 
alone in our misery. Women were on the road, closely 
pinned up in their coarse, grey cloaks, with linsey-woolsey 
petticoats coming several inches short of the ancle ; each 
had her little bag slung across her back, in which, I found, 
were contained the provisions for the journey, the sconns 
(round cakes,) baked hard for the pilgrimage. Most of 
those whom we met or passed were without bonnets, and, 
in lieu thereof, a spotted cotton handkerchief was pinned 
over the head, and each had a staff in her hand. Those 
who were coming from the lake appeared to me extremely 
feeble, and unfit for their homeward journey; but they 
had all cheerful, self-congratulating faces, and seemed to 
claim our greetings with peculiar heartiness. By the ap¬ 
pearance of some, I should suppose they had travelled on 
foot from the very extremities of the country; indeed, I 
afterwards found some had been six weeks on the journey. 
“ And what did they expect to gain by their trouble ?” I 
enquired. They looked shocked at the doubt implied in 
my question, and immediately begun enumerating a variety 
of bodily cures, as well as spiritual benefits, received at the 
holy island. One woman told me it was her ninth jour¬ 
ney: she complained of having “a wicked heart-burn, that 


Patrick’s purgatory. 


199 


tormented the very life out of her all the year round ; hut 
it was sure to leave her clear a fortnight before she made 
the pilgrimage.” But many came on more important er¬ 
rands ; and I was certainly very much impressed as we 
drew nearer the dark lake, and as the weather improving 
left more opportunity for observation, with the sobered 
and deep attention of the various parties of pilgrims to 
the business before them. Every face looked solemn and 
thoughtful as the boundary mountains appeared before us; 
the talkative women were silent,—even children looked 
up with awe in their parents’ faces; while some, with tears 
and groans, and others with looks of wild excitement, pur¬ 
sued their way. Altogether I found I had not calculated 
on the depth of reality, the earnest devotion of these poor 
creatures: and, whatever my after-feelings might be, I 
felt too much respect for their evident sincerity to hazard 
at that moment any remarks upon the mistaken character 
of their piety. I saw enough, however, before the day 
was over to make me vexed and indignant, though not 
with the people themselves. 

The lake is about nine miles in circumference : upon it 
is the island called Patrick’s Purgatory, on which the 
station is held. The holy season begins on the 1st of June 
every year, and continues till the 15th of August. On our 
arrival at the borders of the lake we found about two hun¬ 
dred pilgrims in waiting to be ferried over, no one being 
allowed to enter the boat kept for the purpose without 
a ticket from his priest. The object of his going is to per¬ 
form certain penances, consisting of prayer, fasting, and 
watching. No one is allowed, while on the island, to eat 
or drink any thing but bread and water, or meal and 
water; and they may, and often do, remain three or four 
days crowded together on this little space of ground. Part 
of the time is always passed in what is called the prison, 


200 


ULSTER. 


where they are neither allowed to eat, drink, or sleep. 
The whole of the penances are under the direction of a 
prior, who remains at the island during the station ; and 
they are more or less severe according to his discretion. 
In some cases penitents remain as long as fifteen days; 
and the ceremony of going on the bare knees round cer¬ 
tain stones, called the saints’ beds, repeating prayers, &c. 
is added to the usual rites. Each pilgrim pays one shilling 
and fourpence halfpenny,—sixpence halfpenny of which is 
for the use of the ferry-boat. 

I had a letter to the prior, and was allowed to go to the 
island, but the moment I arrived there the devotions of 
the people were suspended—no one moved or spoke. 
Every spot was crowded. There might be as many as 
2000 persons upon it, but all were quiet, and I could see 
nothing of the usual penances: there were, however, a 
good many priests, each surrounded by pilgrims ; and the 
sight of this, and the knowledge that the Catholic bishops 
encourage these poor creatures to waste their time, 
strength, and money on this pitiable superstition, gave a 
severe shock, I must confess, to my kindly and charitable 
feelings. Granting that the common clergy are little bet¬ 
ter informed than the majority of their hearers, one cannot 
make a like excuse for their highest dignitaries; and 
what shall we say to the lay proprietor of the island, who 
receives a rent of from two to three hundred pounds 
a year for it ? The multitude of the pilgrims during a 
single season proves the extent and power of the super¬ 
stition which is thus upheld by those who ought to know 
better. In one station it has been known to exceed 
20,000 ! In short, I came away from Lough Dergli sad¬ 
dened and overpowered. One look to the bright heavens 
above, one thought of the pure Being who made man a ra¬ 
tional creature, and whose revelations have all been 


PETTIGO. 


201 


adapted to his improvement and not to his spiritual abase¬ 
ment, brought (I am not ashamed to say it) the tears into 
my eyes as I again turned them on this miserable perversion 
of his kind designs. Men talk in abhorrence of Jugger¬ 
naut, but the Hindoos have not drunk at Christian foun¬ 
tains ; they act in accordance with their own religion ; 
they are consistent; but what are those men who profess 
to follow the teachings of the pure and dignified Saviour 
of the world, and yet enjoin and patronize such deplorable 
instances of that Pharasaic spirit which he condemned ! 

On our leaving Lough Dergh we turned our steps to¬ 
wards Pettigo, where we found the car with our portman¬ 
teau. The driver, who had been anxiously enjoining us, 
on our way from Donegal, to pay due reverence to the 
priests and pilgrims at the station, was eager to hear our 
report, and not a little scandalized at the burst of feeling 
with which Henry (who had been much affected at what 
he had seen) expressed his pity and sorrow for the people 
whose devotions we had witnessed. I will not say he was 
prudent, but he was certainly sincere, and the man was 
not, I think, after the first shock, displeased with his 
warmth ; in fact, the Irish are willing enough to attend to 
a stranger, however heretical, if they have no suspicion of 
his being governed by motives of self-interest. If they 
think he is an interested advocate, a clergyman, for in¬ 
stance, bent upon collecting his dues, or a Tory, an enemy 
to “the glorious Dan,” and a friend to those systems of mis- 
government which have so injured Ireland, they will not 
care for his words; they may hear them civilly, but it is not 
with the slightest intention of remembering or being in¬ 
fluenced by them; but a rough speech, and even a hard 
name bestowed on the priest from the lips of one whom 
they respect are tolerated, and excite no angry feelings. 

From Pettigo we made the best of our way, assailed by 


202 


ULSTER. 


frequent showers, however, to Enniskillen, on the borders 
of Loch Erne, between the upper and the lower or smaller 
lake. The appearance of these beautiful waters differed 
indeed widely from that of Lough Dergli. The upper lake 
is crowded with islands : so numerous are they as to take 
off much from the beauty of the general effect; but the 
lower lake is more expansive, and also boasts of having on 
its southern shore a noble mountain called Poola-fooka. 
At a little distance from these lakes are the beautiful seats 
of the Earl of Belmore and of Lord Enniskillen: we visited 
them both, and we also enjoyed a delightful row upon the 
lake to Devenish Island, which, beautiful in its situation, 
is also interesting from the circumstance of its round 
tower—one of those curious buildings which have occa¬ 
sioned so much speculation among antiquarians. I have 
not myself, in general, any great taste for these discus¬ 
sions, but I must say, I never in my Irish travels could 
look at one of these towers without a strange mixture of 
curiosity, awe, and veneration, quite unascribable to any 
thing in the buildings t hemselves, but occasioned by the very 
mysterious nature of their original uses and their remote 
antiquity. To stand and look at a real building, complete 
apparently as far as it goes, and to think that it is older by 
far than any ecclesiastical remains in Great Britain, older 
by centuries, perhaps, than Christianity, akin to no erec¬ 
tions that we know of in Europe, and finding its prototype, 
as far as we yet know, only in Hindostan*—all this is not 
a little remarkable and astonishing. No doubt (as has 
been observed by enquirers) these buildings, as w r ell as 
most others, were seized on by Christianity, and, if for¬ 
merly appropriated to the rites of heathen worship, were 
purified and consecrated to the uses of a better faith; but 

t 

* Moore’s History of Ireland, vol. i. p. 30. 


DEVENISH ISLAND. 


203 


all the attempts as yet made to identify their existence with 
that of Christianity have failed: the most probable con¬ 
jecture appears to be that they were fire-temples. It is 
known that the worship of fire formed a part of the ancient 
religion of Ireland: her early and long-continued inter¬ 
course, through the Phoenicians, with the east, was the 
means of introducing many eastern superstitions. The 
worship of the sun was among these, and wherever this 
took place astronomy was sure to be cultivated, and the 
four windows of the towers, looking to the four cardinal 
points of the compass, may possibly have been used as 
posts of observation of the heavens. The moon also was 
adored by the early Irish. Confirmatory of the conjectures 
above adverted to, is the circumstance of the towers being 
called by some of the Irish annalists “ Celestial In¬ 
dexes.” 

The tower I now saw on Devenish Island, and which 
my son sketched while I was observing and measuring it, 
is eiglity-two feet high. There were four human heads 
rudely sculptured in the cornice at the top, facing the four 
cardinal points. The door of entrance, as usual in these 
structures, is at a considerable height from the ground, 
and cannot be reached without a ladder: higher up by 
twelve feet is a window, and higher still the four aper¬ 
tures. Near the tower is the ruin of an old church, com¬ 
mon to all these structures, as old probably as any in the 
country, and proving, as in other instances, that, if the 
round towers did not owe their erection to Christian ar¬ 
chitects, they were very early surrounded by Christian 
buildings, and probably themselves appropriated to reli¬ 
gious uses. There is also the remains of an abbey on Deve¬ 
nish Island, a place of extraordinary interest and beauty. 

I have heard that the lower Loch Erne, take it for all in 
all, is the most beautiful lake in the three kingdoms. 


204 


ULSTER. 

Whether this be so I cannot take upon me to say, having 
often experienced the impossibility of bearing away that 
distinct recollection of other scenes which may enable us 
to come at a fair judgment. Remembering, also, the im¬ 
mense variety afforded in such scenes by changes of wea¬ 
ther, I never would venture to pronounce without a resi¬ 
dence near each of them: I can only say, to us Loch Erne 
was replete with beauty : our minds and hearts were full 
to overflowing as we revelled in its soft and majestic 
scenes, and I felt no desire to leave it and seek for finer 
prospects in any corner of this fair world. 

From Enniskillen we took a car to Florence Court, 
Lord Enniskillen’s residence, beautifully situated at the 
foot of a fine chain of hills. Thence to Swanlinbar, where 
there is a medicinal spring, at one time much frequented. 
It is not in itself by any means an attractive town ; but I 
could not look upon it without interest, for it was the 
scene of the first pastoral labours of the late excellent 
Bishop Jebb ; and I gazed on the' church, the parsonage, 
and the scattered cottages which that good shepherd used 
to visit, not without emotion. It must indeed in winter 
have been a dreary prospect; and I recalled the account 
he has himself given of his walks and rides, through dark¬ 
ness and intense cold, over the bleak and marshy tracts. 

From hence we took coach to Cavan, the capital of the 
county of the same name. This place owes its chief at¬ 
tractions to the beauty of the neighbouring scenery, which 
is adorned by several pretty lakes; among them is situated 
the seat of Lord Farnham. His lordship has done much for 
Cavan, and has beautified the town by public gardens, &c. 
I could not be so near without visiting Kilmore, not so much 
because of its present objects of interest, as out of the love 
and reverence I bear to that best of all Ireland’s bishops, 
Bishop Bedell. Long as I have dwelt with affection 


KILMORE. 


205 


and admiration on the simple memorials of him handed 
down by his biographer, I could not see rising before me 
the small, poor edifice, almost miscalled a cathedral, in 
which this pious prelate officiated, without feeling my 
heart stirred within me. It may not be known to all my 
readers, that Bedell was so quietly performing the duties 
of a parish priest in the county of Suffolk, before Sir 
Henry Wotton earnestly moved King James the First to 
give him preferment, that the learned Italian Diodati, 
coming over to England, and making it his business to en¬ 
quire for one who, on the continent, was esteemed as ex¬ 
traordinary a man for talent and acquirement as any that 
age could boast, could nowhere hear of Bedell from any 
person he met with, and only by mere accident fell in with 
the object of his search in the streets of London. From 
this state of retirement being at length drawn out, and 
finally presented to the united bishoprics of Kilmore and 
Ardagh, he very soon perceived how great an abuse was 
permitted in the Irish Church, and particularly in his own 
diocese, by the multitude of pluralities, and consequently 
of absentees ; and yet he thought it would be wrong to ar¬ 
raign his clergy without first setting them a good example. 
Ardagh was considered as a ruined see, and had for some 
time been reckoned as one with Kilmore, but Bedell, con¬ 
ceiving them as in reality distinct, resigned the former to 
another clergyman, in order that he might with clearer 
conscience attack the pluralists. This he proceeded to 
do, and from this time would never give a benefice to any 
one without obliging him by an oath to perpetual and per¬ 
sonal residence, and also never to hold any benefice in con¬ 
junction with it. 

Bedell was fifty-nine years of age when he came to Kil¬ 
more, and it was not until several years afterwards that, 
moved by the sense of what was due to the poorer part of 


200 


ULSTER. 


his people, lie set himself to learn the Irish language, in 
order that he might hold freer communication himself 
with them, and contribute towards their instruction : per¬ 
haps there is not a more remarkable circumstance in the 
annals of Christian benevolence than the manner in which 
this venerable man followed up and carried on this idea. It 
was no easy task to fix and construct, as he did, the first 
grammar of the tongue ever printed. Afterwards he had 
the Common Prayer read in Irish once every Sunday in 
his Cathedral: the New Testament being also translated 
into the vulgar tongue. From thence he proceeded to the 
great task of superintending a translation of the whole 
Bible into Irish. Not only did he with infinite labour re¬ 
vise and collate the work, going back to the fountain-head, 
with the best Hebrew copies in existence, and correcting 
the English version where wrong, but he was actually about 
to begin the printing at his own private expense, when 
hindered by the petty devices of some little minds, who 
grudged so good a work to the Irish; the ISIS, how¬ 
ever fell into good hands, and was afterwards per¬ 
fected and printed by Mr. Boyle. When I reached Ivil- 
more I could not but call to mind the circumstances of 
distress under which this excellent man ended his useful 
life. It was during that outbreak of the Irish which fol¬ 
lowed Strafford’s recal, that Bedell suffered ; and yet he 
was not without many testimonies of personal affection ; 
and it was plain that the hatred of the Irish was to the sys¬ 
tem, and not to the mild and excellent Bishop of Kilmore. 
“ He was the only Englishman,” says his biographer, “ in 
the whole county of Cavan, that was suffered to live in his 
own house without disturbancethe rebels seemed to be 
overcome by his exemplary conversation, and by the ten¬ 
derness and charity that he had, on all occasions, ex¬ 
pressed for them; and they often said “ lie should be the 


KILMORE. 


207 


last Englishman that should be .put out of Ireland.” 
There, in his house, in the church-yard, within the walls 
of his church, numbers took refuge, believing that no one 
■would harm them in the neighbourhood of the good Bishop 
of Kilmore; and still he went about among them, com¬ 
forting and encouraging them. But they were not suffered 
to retain possession of the little cathedral. A new Catholic 
bishop being appointed by the insurgents, this man, whose 
name w T as Swiney, gave notice to Bedell that he was merely 
come for the protection of the prelate, and begged to be 
permitted to lodge in his house. The letter of Bedell in re¬ 
ply has always seemed to me a masterpiece. He begins 
by thanking Swiney for the offer of his protection, declin¬ 
ing it, however, for many reasons, one of which is, that his 
u house is strait, and there is a number of miserable peo¬ 
ple of all ranks, ages, and of both sexes, that have fled 
thither as to a sanctuary, besides that some are sick, 
among whom his own son : but that,” says he, “ which is 
beyond all the rest, is the difference in our way of wor¬ 
ship ; I do not say of oar religion , for I have ever thought , 
and have published it in my ivritings, that we have one common 
Christian religion. Under our present miseries, we com¬ 
fort ourselves with the reading of the Holy Scriptures, 
with daily prayers, which we offer up to God in our vulgar 
tongue, and with the singing of psalms ; and since we find 
so little truth among men, we rely on the truth of God, 
and on his assistance. These things would offend others, 
if not yourself,” &c. “ For my own part,” he adds, “ I 

am resolved to trust to the Divine protection. To a 
Christian and a bishop, that is now almost seventy, no 
death for the cause of Christ can be bitter; but, though I 
ask nothing for myself alone, yet, if you will require the 
people under an anathema, not to do any more acts of 
violence to those whom they have so often beaten, spoilt, 


208 


ULSTER. 


and stripped, it will be both acceptable to God, honourable 
to yourself, and happy to the people, if they obey you ; but 
if not, consider God will remember all that is now done, 
to whom, reverend brother, I do heartily commend you.” 

Little moved, however, by this gentle and touching ad¬ 
dress, the Catholic bishop proceeded through his emissaries 
to command him to dismiss the numerous company which 
had gathered about him, telling him that, “though they ho¬ 
noured and loved him above all the English that had ever 
come into Ireland, yet, orders had been received from 
their council of state at Kilkenny that, if he would not put 
aw r ay these people, they must take him from them.” 

Bedell persisting in his refusal to give up those who had 
fled to him for refuge, these threats were finally put into 
execution, and he was taken, with his sons and another 
gentleman, all except the bishop being ironed, and carried 
to a small fortress on a small island in the neighbouring 
Loch, called Locliauter. This also I went to see. The 
ruins of the good bishop’s prison are yet remaining: it 
was so surrounded by water that scarcely a foot of land 
intervened between the walls and the watery element. 
Here, in the midst of winter, in a cold and ruinous habita¬ 
tion, poorly provided with clothes or necessary accommo¬ 
dations, these prisoners were immured. A change, how¬ 
ever, was effected in the space of about three weeks, and 
the bishop was removed to the house of a minister, one 
Denis O’Sheridan; but it came too late : the exposure to 
weather, and the various other trials to which he had been 
subjected, brought on ague ; and on the 7th of February 
he expired, after a period of much, bodily suffering, sup¬ 
ported with all his wonted cheerfulness and resignation. 
The Irish gathered about his grave, and though it was not 
deemed advisable to read the burial-service of the English 
Church, in the then excited state of the people; the in- 


JONESBOROUGH. 


200 


surgents discharged arms over his tomb, some exclaiming, 
“ Requiescat in pace, ultimus Anglornm * expressing 
thus both their respect for him , and their desire to have 
no more of his order in their land. lie was buried, as he 
desired, beside his wife, in the most remote and obscure 
part of the church-yard of Kilmore, having ordered in his 
will that his tomb should bear only this simple inscription— 
“ Depositum Gulielmi quondam Episcopi Ivilmorensis.” 

My plan was now to take the direct road from Cavan to 
Rostrevor, which place I would on no account omit, being 
desirous of comparing the beauties of this part of the east¬ 
ern coast of Ireland with those of the south-west. In 
order to do this more effectually, I was advised to take a 
car at Castle Blayney, a post-town in the. county of Mo¬ 
naghan, which I was about to cross, and where we visited 
with much pleasure Lord Blayney’s seat and grounds, in¬ 
cluding woods of noble evergreens, and a lake studded 
with islands. Our driver recommended our proceeding 
by way of Jonesborough, which is in the county of Ar¬ 
magh, and in the direct road from Dundalk ; from thence 
he anticipated no difficulty in my progress, and indeed 
we found his advice good. At Jonesborough we were 
again in the midst of mountains, desolate summits, and 
richly clothed slopes, a healthful mixture of heath, hill, 
wood, and dale, interspersed with carefully cultivated gen¬ 
tlemen’s pleasure-grounds. All this tract of country was 
the scene of the most sanguinary and repeated contests 
during the war between the misguided James the Second 
and the English under William the Third. “ Here,” as 
the historian observes, “ the corn lay rotting on the 
ground, the houses were ruined, the gardens waste—no 
human voice, nor sound of village dog, nor chirp of do- 

* Rest in peace, last of the English. 

P 


210 


ULSTER.. 


mestic fowl, greeted the stranger.” The Protestants had 
been driven out by the retreating forces of the Stuart, 
and the Catholics fled in their turn at the approach of King 
William. But above all scourges of the country at that 
time, were the Enniskillen and Derry men, a band of fa¬ 
natical soldiers, imbued with the spirit of the Scotch cove¬ 
nanters, who justified the most savage murders, provided 
they were done upon Catholics. These hunted the native 
Irishmen from one fastness in the mountains to another, 
and drove some chieftains to take up the robber’s life as 
the only means of preserving a precarious existence. I 
looked with interest upon one mountain stronghold, which 
was pointed out to me as the retreat of Redmond O’Hau- 
lan, from whence, surrounded by a few fierce followers, 
he used to issue and attack those whom he considered as 
intruders on his own and his father’s lands. The ride be¬ 
tween Jonesborough and Rostrevor is eminently beautiful. 
One catches everywhere lovely views of the sea at Carling- 
ford Bay, at the north-east point of which the village is 
situated. Its white villas rise on a gentle acclivity near a 
little cove, while hills and broken rocks screen it behind 
and on the sides. Rich woods of forest-trees fill the ra¬ 
vines ; and behind, and forming a vaster amphitheatre, are 
dark, abrupt mountain-tops. In fact, this part of the 
scenery may well rival some of that I had seen among the 
wilds of Kerry; but the contrast is in the sheltered slopes, 
the land-locked bays, not filled by the rough waters of the 
Atlantic, impelled by raging westerly winds, but generally 
calm, smooth, and glassy as a lake. I remembered, and did 
not fail to visit the spot mentioned in Bishop Jebb’s Me¬ 
moirs, where he and his brother so narrowly escaped a 
watery grave while bathing.* Rostrevor is decidedly one 


* See the account of this circumstance in Bishop Jebb’s Life, voL i. p. 34. 


MOUNTAINS OF MORNE. 


211 


of the most beautiful places I ever saw, and I wonder not 
at its being the resort of so many visitants every summer. 
I proposed returning to this place on my way to Newry 
and Armagh, but could not forbear digressing in order to 
approach the celebrated mountains of Morne. In order 
to do this we resolved to go to Dundrum, which is not 
more than nineteen miles from Rostrevor, and is in itself 
a place of some interest, having an extensive ruined cas¬ 
tle, built in former times by the powerful Baron John de 
Courcy, who first aspired to the conquest of Ulster, and 
continuing long the property of the Knights Templars. 
From this place, and on various parts of the road, we 
caught repeated views of the sterile mountains of this 
barony. From the heights of one or two hills which we 
ascended, the prospects seaward were very extensive, 
stretching over the Isle of Man to the Scotch and West¬ 
moreland coasts. I have been told that on a clear day 
the Morne mountains may be seen very distinctly from 
eminences in the neighbourhood of Dublin, a distance of 
about 80 miles. The principal among them, Mount Do- 
nard, rises 2810 feet above the sea, which is 580 feet lower 
than the Reeks, south and west of Killarney, but is higher 
than any mountain of the Connaught ranges. The scenery, 
which though certainly grand, is wild and inhospitable in 
a remarkable degree, did not tempt us to extend our ram¬ 
bles very far; and we returned the following day to the 
smiling beauty of Rostrevor, thence, however, proceeding 
almost immediately to Newry. This is a delightful ride : 
the road skirts the river nearly the whole way; and there 
are various striking points of view, particularly one, where 
the passage for the water is contracted by a huge rock, 
immediately jutting out of which arise the walls of Nar¬ 
row Water Castle, an ancient and important military 
post. Newry may be considered as one of the keys of 

p 2 


212 


ULSTER. 


Ireland, and it certainly possesses immense advantages as 
a place of export. A canal communicates with Carling- 
ford Bay, and again, another canal connects it with Loch 
Neagh. It is a thriving, respectable town; and, while 
greater part is handsomely built, even the oldest houses 
are not absolutely shabby; in fact, being nearly burnt to 
the ground by James the Second’s forces, it has been bet¬ 
ter laid out than most Irish towns of equal size. I found, 
as usual, great competition for land, and was annoyed by 
that violence of political contest between Orangemen and 

Catholics which may truly be called the curse of Ireland 

\ 

generally, but more especially of the north. It seemed to 
me, indeed, that I never heard less candid or kind lan¬ 
guage respecting the original inhabitants of Ireland than in 
this part of the country : excepting at Derry, where I have 
recorded my conversation with an Orangeman, I met with 
no such violence. From Newry I proceeded to Armagh. 
On every account I was interested in this place : its antiqui¬ 
ties and historical recollections are numerous, and it is also 
an agreeable, well-inhabited, well-situated, well-built town, 
containing, I was told, about 10,000 inhabitants. The 
shops are genteel, the houses handsome, and the country 
round is pleasing and well cultivated. Wages were good, 
and the linen-trade increasing; but Armagh has many 
other claims to notice : it has been favoured by some most 
exemplary bishops, among others the learned Usher. 
The very ancient character of its cathedral and the in¬ 
terest of its early history delight the antiquarian; and 
there is abundance of beauty in the old structures them¬ 
selves, and in the grounds and appurtenances of the arch¬ 
bishop’s palace. The cathedral, rebuilt from its former 
ruins in 1260, is still the oldest cathedral church in Ire¬ 
land. St. Patrick (for whom, without pretending to faith 
in the miraculous powers ascribed to him by the Irish, I 


ARMAGH. 


213 


yet entertain considerable respect) was the founder of this 
see, probably about A.D. 452-3; and it is to be concluded, 
that in his choice of a situation he might be influenced by 
the circumstance of the neighbourhood having been 
formerly the residence of the ancient kings of the pro¬ 
vince. My son and I were exceedingly struck with the 
venerable Minster: it has recently undergone repairs of 
great extent, and involving large expense. Beautiful 
arches and windows have, in the course of the process, 
been laid open, having been built up under the hands of 
former and more clumsy repairers. The pillars were dis¬ 
covered to be bent from the perpendicular, and the archi¬ 
tect has, with great care, labour, and skill, succeeded in 
restoring them, in a great measure, to their proper sta¬ 
tion. This has been done by means of the contracting 
and expanding forces of heat and cold applied to iron 
rods, which are passed from one pillar to another, the 
pillars being braced round with irons. The present arch¬ 
bishop has given largely to the restoration of this cathe¬ 
dral ; more than £8000, besides endowing and building 
a hospital in Armagh ; thus, though his income may be 
considered as too large, the neighbourhood, certainly, 
benefits by it. There is a valuable library appended to 
the cathedral, and residents within thirty miles may par¬ 
take of its benefits. 

The grounds of the palace I found very beautiful. The 
celebrated Archbishop Robinson built the dwelling itself, 
the observatory, three churches, and a school, besides an 
obelisk of white marble within the grounds, one hundred 
and fifty-seven feet high: this was built entirely for the 
purpose of employing labourers in a time of distress: 
whether the money might not have been better spent in 
enabling some industrious families to emigrate to a land of 
fairer promise I leave my readers to question and answer, 


214 


ULSTER. 


as I was inclined to do; but of the benevolence of the 
bishop’s intentions I entertain no doubt. 

Our plan was now to navigate Loch Neagh, in our way 
back to Belfast; and, accordingly, I enquired for the 
nearest point to Armagh at which we could embark. We 
were advised to proceed to Cliarlemont, now a place of 
little consequence, though there are still barracks, and a 
depot for military stores, but a fortress of considerable 
strength in the time of James the Second, when it held 
out a straight siege against King William’s troops, headed 
by Schomberg. It was situated on the Blackwater river, 
and was defended by a morass approachable only by two 
narrow causeways, both of which were well guarded. The 
Irish had destroyed the town , that no protection might be 
afforded to an approaching enemy; and the garrison was 
commanded by a brave old Irishman, called Teague O’Re¬ 
gan, who managed to keep the Orange army at bay for a 
considerable time. At length his stores fell short; but in 
the hour of his need, a company of five-hundred Irishmen, 
headed by Colonel McMahon, with great generosity and 
bravery contrived to bring in some provisions to the relief 
of the besieged. Of course these were gladly received ;— 
not so the friendly hands by which the supply came;—the 
surly old governor positively refused to admit them, telling 
them they were more than enough to eat up all they had 
brought, and desiring them fo make the best of their way 
back again. This was found impossible;—they were forced 
back under the castle walls ; but still the inhospitable 
governor refused to take them in, and they were com¬ 
pelled to encamp between the castle and the enemy, un¬ 
protected and starving. At length, matters having come 
to extremity, proposals of surrender were made to Schom¬ 
berg, who granted honourable terms to the besieged, and 
they marched out with their arms, horses, baggage, and 


LOCH NEAGH. 


215 


personal property. It was found that the garrison con¬ 
sisted of eight hundred men ; but, to the surprise of 
Schomberg, two hundred women were also marched out; 
O’Regan declaring, when this was noticed, that had he 
parted with these , his men would not have kept their 
ground so well. Duke Schomberg, who was touched by 
the bravery and fortitude of the besieged, gave a loaf of 
bread to every man, woman, and child belonging to the 
fortress;—no unacceptable present to those who had been 
feeding on horse-flesh and every kind of offal for many 
days past. 

We took boat a little above Charlemont, near the Dun¬ 
gannon canal entrance to Loch Neagh, and were soon 
upon this huge basin of water. We could not praise its 
picturesque beauties : except for its size it is no way strik¬ 
ing, and the western shores especially are low, the lake 
overflowing about 10,000 acres of land annually. It is 
about seventeen miles in length, and averages ten miles in 
breadth; nor can its capabilities as an assistance to the 
inland navigation of Ireland be easily overrated. Already 
several canals communicate with it; and when, as is pro¬ 
posed, it is connected in this way with Loch Erne, vessels 
may pursue an unobstructed course from Belfast, or from 
Carlingford, to within four miles of the western sea at 
Donegal Bay. Between Loch Neagh and Loch Erne is 
about the distance of forty miles, which, with the four 
miles between Loch Erne and Donegal Bay will alone re¬ 
quire to be opened by a canal communication. The diffi¬ 
culties will be found to arise chiefly from the different 
level of the two great lakes, Loch Neagh being only forty- 
four feet above the level of the ocean, while Loch Erne is 
one hundred and forty-eight feet. Whether the great num¬ 
ber of locks which will be thus rendered necessary will 
make the undertaking too expensive remains to be proved. 


21G 


ULSTEll. 


There was but one other object I particularly wished to 
see in this neighbourhood, and that was Shane’s Castle: 
but it would have taken us quite to the north-east" ex- 
tremity of the lake, from whence we must either have 
returned the way we came to the Belfast canal, or made 
a circuitous land journey. We, therefore, merely crossed 
the southern end of the loch in an easterly direction, and 
entering the Belfast canal, were not very long before we 
found ourselves proceeding up the Logan River, and 
coming in sight of the busy town which we had quitted 
some weeks before, on an excursion which had afforded us 
both multiplied objects of present and future interest. 




V 

LEINSTER. 


[Counties- 

-Twelve.] 

DUBLIN. 

LOUTH. 

CARLOW. 

EAST MEATH. 

KILDARE. 

WEST MEATH. 

KILKENNY. 

queen’s COUNTY 

king’s COUNTY. 

WEXFORD. 

LONGFORD. 

WICKLOW. 






































I 









THE 


TRAVELLER IN LEINSTER. 


“ See now, yer Honour ! isn’t it a beautiful country ? 
Do but look at the iligant bay, and the Sugar-loaf, and 
the Divil’s Bit far away among the clouds yonder, and to 
your right the famous hill of Howth, that looks for all the 
world like a giant lying and taking his rest, forenent the 
harbour. We’re in it now, yer Honour,—in the bay, sure, 
only the government steamers have left off going over the 
Bar. There’s Kingstown; that that used to be Dunleary 
in my time, and would have been so to this day, only King 
George the Fourth, God bless him ,—the Ragent ,—lighted 
there first of all, when he came to see his Irish dominions, 
and it’s gone by the name of Kingstown ever since. Yer 
Honour sees the pillar ! that’s where the Ragent put his 
foot first, and the people didn’t like the print should 
wear out. It’s all right and natural, and so is the new 
pier, sure !” 

“Very fine indeed, Brady! Those really are beautiful 
mountains; and it is the loveliest bay I ever saw ! I do not 
wonder you are proud of it !” 

“ Is it proud of it we are ? Troth, well we may ! sure 
there’s no country in the whole world like it! Your 
Honour’s going to step ashore ?” 



220 


LEINSTER. 


“ Presently ! I was looking at those poor creatures on 
the pier. They seem ready to jostle the passengers into 
the sea, they try so hard to get themselves noticed !” 

“ Oh, the craturs ! the mendicity hasn’t, nor never can, 
drive all the beggars off; hut it is a bare handful now to 
what it wonst was! Sure there’s nothing in life to care 
for!” 

u Why, Brady, I never saw so many lialf-famished, 
ragged creatures gathered together before !” 

u Then yer Honour has lived in a grand country, and 
not in Ireland at all! ’Tis many a worse sight nor this 
ye must see, if ye come amongst us! God bless yer 
Plonour, it does one good to see your heart so kind ; hut 
if the purse is open already, it will he soon light enough ! 
Don’t give ’em the white money,—pray don’t, yer Honour. 
Copper suits the likes o’ them better !” 

“ Well, Brady, now how shall I get to Dublin ?” 

“ Whichever way yer Honour pleases. There’s the 
new rail-road that takes ye like a thought into the very 
heart of it! and here are chays and cars plenty.” 

“ Is that what you call a car ? Well, I will take 
that ! ’Tis a beautiful morning, and I shall enjoy the 
ride !” 

“ Yer Honour’s right entirely ! Sure it’s more Chris¬ 
tian and properer every way to take the air quietly when 
one comes out of great danger, than to dash and hurry 
along the way those people are going !” 

The English gentleman, Mr. Mowbray, who was now for 
the first time on Irish ground, had won the heart and de¬ 
voted services of his present attendant Brady, by relieving 
him in a period of extreme distress. Finding the poor fellow 
clever as well as attached, he had determined on taking him 
as his servant on an autumnal excursion to Ireland. In Eng¬ 
land Brady would have been objectionable from his national 


BLACK BOCK. 


221 


peculiarities; but Mr. Mowbray rightly thought that it was 
worth putting up with these on the present occasion. The 
voyage from Liverpool had been a rough one, not unat¬ 
tended with danger ; but to a stormy night had succeeded 
a lovely morning, and, once fairly seated on a car, there 
was nothing to interrupt the pleasure which the first view 
of a rich and interesting country was capable of affording. 
The road, though so near the capital, (five and a half Irish 
miles,*) was at this early hour fresh, and free from dusk 
The noisy train of passengers had passed, and were far on 
their way along the railroad to Dublin. They kept along 
the sea coast; yet sufficiently elevated by the nature of 
the shore to command fine views across the bay, and 
sometimes green hills, smiling in the sunshine, contrasted 
with the deep blue of the ocean even on its very brink. 
Green did we say ? Yes, indeed, and such green ! The 
traveller arriving from England will surely own that he 
had formed a very imperfect idea of the best and brightest 
livery of our mother earth, before he had seen the suit 
that clothes the Emerald Isle. To the humidity of the 
climate this may doubtless be in a great measure ascribed, 
but it tells well also for the richness of the soil; and some¬ 
thing must also be ascribed to the mellowing softness of 
the atmosphere. This cannot surely be imaginary. We 
have seen combinations of forms, skeletons of scenery, far 
more picturesque than any we ever beheld in Ireland; but 
never have we beheld so harmonious a blending of colours, 
skies often more warm and blue, more rapid and brilliant 
changes in the effects of light and shade. 

“That’s Black Rock, yer Honour !” said Brady, point¬ 
ing to a collection of houses and villas on the edge of the 
sea. “ ’Tis a famous bathing-place, and the houses have a 


* Eleven Irish miles are equal to about fourteen English. 


222 


LEINSTER. 


beautiful prospect. The cars are coming out thick from 
Dublin now ! Ye may see parties pleasuring, or coming to 
bathe, may be.” 

“ A jiretty load you make your horses carry, Pat! Do 
but see ! there are seven people on yon car, and only one 
poor beast to drag them, and the road hilly too !” 

“ It’s what they’re used to, and not unkind, at all: they 
like it ! Do but see how they scamper along the road ! 
In regard to the cattle, none are to be named with the 
Irish; and as to the hills, sure when they’re going up 
they remember the coming down, and don’t mind it ! and 
then the gentlemen always light at the bad places ! Have 
a care, yer Honour, of your legs ! Och ! you vagabond ! 
Arn’t you a disgrace now to the country, to be driving at 
that rate right up against a gentleman’s legs, and he a 
stranger ?” 

“ Why do you speak so to him, Pat ?” asked Mr. Mow¬ 
bray : “he did not come near enough to do any harm.” 

“ I saw the whiskey in him, yer Honour, and so thought 
it best to speak in time ! Besides, English gentlemen arn’t 
used to outside cars ; and, ye see, here’s no purtection to 
the knees, seeing the natives don’t want it, being used to 
it, and sinsible /” 

When they reached Dublin, Mr. Mowbray became sin¬ 
sible that Pat’s caution was not wholly unnecessary. In 
a narrow part of the street they encountered a cart, the 
wheels of which came in very close contact with the foot¬ 
board of the car on which he was sitting ; and there 
seemed considerable awkwardness in the construction of 
the vehicle when its capacities were thus exhibited. Mr. 
Mowbray could compare it to nothing but a laden ass, the 
seats representing huge panniers, the middle part or well 
the broad back of the animal; and if you fancy three or 
four individuals riding, two on each pannier, with their 


DUBLIN. 223 

backs to each other, and their feet resting’ on a foot-board, 
while the driver sits on a dickey in front, you will have a 
not unapt notion of the outside jaunting-car in common 
use in Ireland; some of these vehicles being of course 
much lighter, smoother, and smarter than others. The 
convenience of the machine makes itself acknowledged in 
a very short time : no carriage is so easily mounted and so 
convenienly constructed for frequent changes of position. 

Entering Dublin, our traveller found himself more at 
home. He was quite prepared for the beauties of a very 
handsome city, and Dublin did not disappoint him. In its 

streets, squares, and public buildings, it was all and more 

/ 

than he expected. Not that there is any such combina¬ 
tion of fine natural scenery with architectural beauty in 
Dublin as in Edinburgh—far from it. The environs of 
the Irish capital are beautiful; but once enter the city, 
and you must content yourself with buildings and wide 
areas. It is a town, and nothing but a town: no com¬ 
manding glances over hill and dale and water, as at 
Londonderry. No castle-crowned rock, as at Edinburgh. 
London itself cannot be flatter, or more under the domi¬ 
nion of the genius of business. When we come to speak of 
little excursions, indeed ; of days and half-days spent by 
the citizens in all the luxuries of glens, caverns, and cool 
streams, we shall see the difference ; and even the lodge 
of his Excellency the Lord Lieutenant, in the Phoenix 
Park, is vastly superior, in point of situation, to any thing 
which London has to offer. In Sackville Street our tra¬ 
veller was told he would find one of the best hotels in 
Dublin; and behold him accordingly at Gresham’s, sur¬ 
rounded by all the luxuries, and rather more than its pro¬ 
portion of the fineries of similar establishments in London. 

After a good breakfast, and a short attempt to sleep off 
an uncomfortable swimming of the head left by the 


224 


LEINSTER. 


voyage, and not quite dispelled by the ride, Mr. Mowbray 
took his hat, and sauntered along Sackville Street in a 
southerly direction towards College Green. Crossing the 
Liffey, he stood on the bridge for some moments, in ad- 
miration of the group of buildings before and behind 
him. Looking back, his eye took in Nelson’s Pillar, the 
whole length of Sackville Street, including the new Post 
Office; on the right hand was to be seen the Custom 
House; and considerably down the river, to the left, the 
dome of the Four Courts. Looking north, the very beauti¬ 
ful Bank of Ireland with its magnificent colonnades, to 
the right of the spectator on the bridge ; Trinity College 
with its gardens on the left; Grafton Street with its 
numerous well-furnislied shops, leading up to St. Stephen’s 
Green ; Dame Street, opening a broad and handsome line 
of buildings, to the left. These and many other objects, 
among which may be named the Castle and St. Patrick’s 
Cathedral, standing in the old part of the town, might be 
beheld from Carlisle Bridge, where Mr. Mowbray stood. 
He had sauntered out without any summons to Pat, not 
coveting his constant attendance, and wishing his first ob¬ 
servations to be made in silence; but that worthy had 
been on the watch, and not conceiving the possibility of 
any rejection of his services, was now on the bridge beside 
him, and soon made his presence understood. Here, how¬ 
ever, he was not destined to remain*: Mr. Mowbray dis¬ 
patched him with two or three of his introductory letters, 
and signified his intention of calling, unaccompanied, upon 
a gentleman in St. Stephen’s Green, to which he had no 
doubt of finding his way without difficulty, a point which 
Pat could not deny to be very probable, seeing they were 
not half-a-mile from the spot, and the direction was almost 
in a straight line. The appearance of wealth and pros¬ 
perity as he passed along Grafton Street, and glanced 


DUBLIN. 


225 


down Dame Street, surpassed his expectations; the city 
was more alive, the shops more splendidly set out, and at 
the doors stood greater numbers of handsome carriages 
than he had calculated upon. On after-enquiry, he was 
sorry to learn, however, that these shops were frequently 
changing masters, and that in many of them the busi¬ 
ness was chiefly carried on by commission. There 
seemed a want of steadiness in the habits of the trades¬ 
men, many of them having no patience in accumulating; 
but withdrawing from trade, and setting up expensive 
country establishments as soon as a respectable sum had 
been realized ; thus squandering in a short time the capi¬ 
tal which, if still continued in business, would have been a 
permanent fortune to themselves and their descendants. 
All this, however, only by degrees unfolded itself to the 
stranger : we have now but to follow him to a handsome 
house in St. Stephen’s Green, a larger if not more striking 
square than any in London. It was too large, indeed, Mr. 
Mowbray was inclined to think, for effect; the buildings 
(excepting the handsome front of Surgeons’ Hall on the 
west side) dwindling into something like insignificance in 
surrounding so extensive an area, rather more than an 
Irish mile in circuit. Its centre encloses seventeen acres 
of shrubbery and garden-ground, in the midst of which 
stands an equestrian statue of George the Second. 

The gentleman whose dwelling our Englishman en¬ 
tered Avas a physician of eminence, and his reception was 
polite and cordial. There was nothing vehement or over¬ 
strained in his display of hospitality, but rather, Mr. 
MoAvbray thought, a tinge of exactitude and formality; 
and with no disposition to underrate the kindnesses he 
aftei’Avards receded in Dublin, he was soon quite con- 1 
vinced that those labour under a great mistake who ex¬ 
pect, in the better circles in Ireland, to meet Avith that 


22 6 


LEINSTER. 


sort of jovial, familiar, and rather vulgar hospitality, which 
is not characteristic of refined society anywhere. He 
found ease and elegance and ingenuous sprightliness in 
the best Irish circles, but found he must go considerably 
lower in the scale, if he wished to see the more common 
and almost proverbial elements of the national character 
broadly displayed. An invitation to dinner at six o’clock 
next day, and a proposal to visit one or two of the prin¬ 
cipal charitable institutions, meanwhile, with Doctor 

■-, followed this call. The physician was on the 

point of visiting, in the course of his usual duty, the 
House of Industry, in Brunswick Street, and he offered 
Mr. Mowbray a seat in his carriage thither. In answer 

to the stranger’s enquiries, Doctor- : — told him this 

institution was considered one of the best managed in Ire¬ 
land, and he believed very little fault could justly be 
charged on its internal regulations. “ The parliamentary 
. grant,” said he, u in aid of its support, amounts to £21,000, 
but there are also many donations, and the labour of the 
poor in part pays for their subsistence. A great part of the 
establishment, howevei-, consists of persons incapable from 
age and sickness of pursuing any employment whatever ; 
and another large department is appropriated to lunatics. 

In the present state of Ireland,” continued Doctor-, 

“ I see no possibility of our dispensing with extensive cha¬ 
ritable institutions; and though I have often occasion to 
think that the sums of money granted by parliament might 
be better managed and distributed, I must see a regular 
system of poor laws, and provision for emigration estab¬ 
lished, before I can think the government justified in with¬ 
drawing them: that they are wholly inadequate to the cure 
or effectual relief of our evils I well know, but numbers 
are saved from absolute starvation, and rendered in some 
degree more moral and religious beings by their means.” 





DUBLIN. 


227 


<£ I am not ignorant,” observed Mr. Mowbray, “ of the 
efforts which have been made to better the condition of 
your poor ; but I must confess I think as yet we have acted 
rather like foolish nurses, bribing their children to silence 
by sugar-plums, than like wise and careful guardians of 
morals. However, I dare say there is reason in what you 
say, with regard to the ill-timed withdrawal of our boun¬ 
ties.” 

“ To be frank,” said the Doctor, “ all these things need 
to be placed on a new footing. The jobbing and the mul¬ 
tiplicity of frauds practised among us are most disgraceful: 
a large share of the money which you English conceive is 
devoted to really charitable purposes, goes to swell the 
fortunes of a few individuals who very poorly perform the 
duties for which they are lavishly paid : here, however, it 
must be confessed, a great deal of solid comfort and many 
good results may be pointed out. You will find at least 
1700 destitute creatures in this institution,” added he, as 
they alighted from the carriage ; “ and I do not think 
there is reason to find fault with the provision made for 
them, either on the score of excess or defect.” 

So thought also Mr. Mowbray, when he had carefully 
inspected the whole: cleanliness and decency reigned 
throughout, and employments of various kinds were pur¬ 
sued by those able to work. The aged and sick were well 
tended and lodged ; and the lunatics, who formed a very 
numerous body, were either amusing themselves in the 
airy yards or the spacious wards. The classification 
seemed very complete, nor was the establishment in any 
thing handsomer, or more showy, than so extensive a 
building, and the requirements of its large family rendered 
necessary. 

“ If you will accompany me to the Mendicity House,” 

said Doctor-, “ I think you will have seen a pretty 

a 2 


■V 



228 


LEINSTER. 


large sample of our poverty; and alas ! it must be owned, 
that of all remarkable things in Ireland, nothing is so re¬ 
markable as this. Poverty in the many and ostentation 
in the few,—I believe this may be observed with truth to 
be the general cbndition of my country.” 

To the Mendicity House they drove. What a scene 
presented itself! Hundreds and hundreds of poor crea¬ 
tures in filth, rags, and disease, lying about the court or on 
the steps of the buildings, waiting for their daily dole, for 
that “ once for all” portion, which they had found it a de¬ 
gree better policy to accept, rather than infest the streets, 
or take their chance of begging in the country. Numbers 
of children, too, were assembled for the day, to be fed, and 
to receive some sort of instruction, after which they were 
consigned every evening to the care of their parents, 
sharing their miserable quarters wherever these might be, 
and bringing back their rags and wretchedness next morn¬ 
ing to the Mendicity again. For some of these people em¬ 
ployment was found; but the greater part were systematic 
beggars, whose claims it had been found more convenient 
to refer to this place, the richer inhabitants gladly sub¬ 
scribing to it in order to be free from the constant nuisance 
of beggars. Let the reader imagine the effect of a proces¬ 
sion of more than 2000 of these wretched objects through 
the streets, a measure which has actually been adopted 
more than once, in order to excite the charity of the in¬ 
habitants. The Catholics, generally speaking, are not 
friendly to this mode of relieving the poor; for fifty pounds 
subscribed by Protestants they give scarce one pound. 
They have a feeling about almsgiving quite at variance 
with the calculating and reasoning mode of procedure 
which modern practice and precept seem likely more and 
more to sanction. “ To give to him that asketh” is a pre¬ 
cept literally observed by them ; and they do not seem to 


DUBLIN. 


229 


ask themselves the question, whether they may not, by 
their indiscriminate charity, be really violating the spirit 
of the commandment. If “ to give to him that asketh us” 
does not mean that all we possess is to go to the first claim¬ 
ant, that claimant, perhaps, utterly incapable of using our 
bounty aright, it surely may mean that we should reserve 
to ourselves the power of directing the best appropriation 
of our alms ; that we should “ have to give” to him , among 
all who ask, whom we regard as best fitted to improve the 
gift. It cannot surely mean that we should cease to be 
rational creatures as soon as our charitable propensities 
are to be put in action. 

At the door of the Mendicity House Mr. Mowbray took 
his leave of the Doctor, and pursued his walk towards 
Sackville Street. On his way he met several females 
dressed in a religious garb, whose lady-like appearance 
struck him as forming a contrast with the coarseness of 
their habit, and their business-like appearance, for most of 
them carried baskets or packages in their hands. These, 
he found, were the “ Sisters of Charity,” who have three 
different establishments in Dublin, and are constantly em¬ 
ployed in visiting the sick and distressed. During the se¬ 
vere visitations of the cholera morbus these invaluable 
women were always to be found at their posts; and they 
seemed to bear about “ a charmed life,” for few, if any, 
suffered from the disease. Many of the nunneries contain 
large schools for the education of the poor and orphaned ; 
and the greater part of these appeared, by Mr. Mow¬ 
bray’s enquiries, to be respectably conducted; nor can 
they be thought of small importance, when it is con¬ 
sidered that the poor are naturally far better disposed to 
receive instruction from those of their own faith than from 
others. 

Being by this time pretty well fatigued by the round he 


230 


LEINSTER. 


had taken, Mr. Mowbray ordered dinner on his return to 
the hotel. Brady was not yet returned, but this circum¬ 
stance did not surprise him, as he concluded the poor fel¬ 
low had taken the opportunity of visiting some of his 
friends; but he was considerably annoyed when, late in the 
evening, he came in with a black eye, a broken head, and 
a bloody nose and mouth ; neither was he exactly sober. 
His master did not choose to question him this night, but 
ordered him to go to bed immediately, and not to present 
himself in the morning until called for. The morning 
came—poor Brady had a great deal to say in his own be¬ 
half : his mother’s cousins, whom he had not seen for years, 
had laid violent hands on him, and obliged him to treat 
them to whiskey; afterwards, he said, they had words 
about a little sister of theirs, to whom it w r as declared 
Brady had behaved ungenteelly, “ though, barring a civil 
word or tw r o,” said Brady, “ I never spoke to her in my 
born days: but I saw what they were arter well enough ; 
and now that I was come back a gentleman’s gentleman 
they wanted to ’tice me into paying court to her, so I said, 
very short, says I, Boys, not mailing to be at all unhand¬ 
some, times are changed now ; I am not my own master, 
but bound to follow his Honour all the w r orld over, be¬ 
ginning at Ireland ; and I don’t intend to be fast with any 
till I’ve done all his bidding: with that, one of the boys 
whips out an ugly word against me I could’nt stand at 
all, and I struck him a neat blow with my fist; and then 
down they all came upon me, bad luck to ’em, and I only 
one to four, and they kicked and cuffed me till I was al¬ 
most kilt; and in the scuffle the tin box, where I kept 
your Honour’s bounty, dropped out, and may be they took 
it, for after they’d left me for dead, and I came to myself, 
I looked everywhere and could’nt find it; so I came back 
here, grieved enough, ye may be sure ; and all I hope is, as 


DUBLIN. 


231 


it was all out of pure love to yer Honour I got beaten, that 
ye’ll think no more about it at all.” 

“ I do not know what to say to that , Brady: by your 
own confession you took these cousins of yours to drink, 
and how can I tell that you may not have twenty more re¬ 
lations, all ready enough to entice you into liquor, and per¬ 
haps to beat and rob you when they have done ?” 

“ Oh then, I’ll tell you what yer Honour ’ll do;—keep 
my money yourself, then the cousins won’t care so much 
for poor Brady; and another thing, sure you were in fault 
yourself, begging pardon for saying the same, not to take 
me with you. Let me only stick by ye like yer shadow, 
and ye’ll see how sober I’ll be.” 

“Well, Brady, I forgive you this first offence, but a 
drunken servant I am determined not to keep ; so remem¬ 
ber, if you wish to stay with me, there is but one way. 
What did you do with my letters of introduction ?” 

“ Safely delivered, all of them, sir. Sure, ye did’nt think 
I was going after cousins or any one till I’d done yer bid¬ 
ding !” 

And in this he spoke truth, for in the course of the 
morning Mowbray had proofs abundant of his letters hav¬ 
ing reached their destination. Calls from some, and cards 
from others, and offers of civility, well-timed and accepta¬ 
ble, from most of those to whom they had been addressed, 
impressed him with an opinion most favourable to Irish 
politeness and attention to strangers. He had also time 
to visit the College, in company with one of the professors, 
to whom he had been particularly recommended. He 
found much to interest him within the walls of this build¬ 
ing ; though many of its treasures are but duplicates of 
those possessed by our English universities, it has its own 
original and unique sources of interest. Ihe library and 
MS. room, in particular, contain valuable treasures ; among 


232 


LEINSTER. 


others, the valuable library of Archbishop Usher, which 
Oliver Cromwell had the good sense to purchase for Ire¬ 
land, when it was already eagerly sought for by foreign 
collectors, enriches the College of Dublin. In the latter 
are many of those relics of ancient Irish literature which 
exhibit the advanced state of the inhabitants of the island 
during a period of great general barbarity. The museum 
also of the college contains some genuine Irish curiosities ; 
fossil remains from the bogs, ancient utensils, and an an¬ 
tique Irish harp. In the examination-hall, Mr. Mowbray 
looked with interest on the portraits of Bishop Berkeley, 
of Archbishops Usher and King, of Dean Swift, and Mr. 
Speaker Forster. In the refectory he also gazed with at¬ 
tention on the pictures of Grattan, Flood, Hussey, Burgh, 
Lord Avonmore, and the unfortunate Lord Kilwarden. 
Surrounded by all these figures of men who had played so 
conspicuous a part in Irish history, it was impossible not 
to feel that he stood on interesting ground. Mr. Mow¬ 
bray knew before that this college was one of the most 
richly endowed in Europe, and was glad to find that it 
possessed so many claims, besides its wealth, on the in¬ 
terest of strangers, and the patriotic affection of the Irish. 
The principal of these is its liberality. Dissenters and 
Catholics are freely admitted, and denied no college ho¬ 
nours, but such as are by statute connected with the disci¬ 
pline of the university. The study of modern languages 
is also carefully attended to, but it was complained that 
the duties of some of the professorships were but carelessly 
performed. He also went to the house of the Royal Dublin 
Society, in Kildare Street, an institution for improving 
husbandry and other useful arts, and which the English 
government has done its best to encourage, parliament 
granting £5300 per annum towards its expenses. Here is 
a museum, statuary rooms, and a large botanic garden. It 


DUBLIN. 


233 


has a professor of botany, one of chemistry, mineralogy and 
geology, and masters of design, for the instruction of pupils. 
There is an annual exhibition of articles of Irish manufac¬ 
ture of all kinds, and premiums are awarded according to 
merit; there is also an annual exhibition of livestock. One 
of the most beautiful buildings in Dublin, Mr. Mowbray’s 
first and last admiration, was the Bank, formerly the Par¬ 
liament-house, in College Green ; he was never weary of 
looking at its fine Ionic colonnade, one hundred and forty- 
seven feet in length. 

A more bustling scene, however, often drew liis steps to¬ 
wards it. The hall of the Four Courts is a splendid build¬ 
ing, and under its lofty dome it was curious to watch the 
characteristic transactions which were continually taking 
place. This hall is in the centre of the courts, a noble, 
spacious, antiroom, in which are assembled, from the hours 
of twelve to three in particular, a vast concourse of people, 
interested in the legal matters which may be pending. 
The din of this place is tremendous : some thousand voices 
are perhaps raised in loud discussion ; country clients are 
hearing the reports of counsel; the tipstaffs are calling 
out for the gentlemen of the special jury ; the attorneys, 
or their clerks, are seeking out each the barrister who 
may chance to be engaged in his service, quickening him 
into court, because his cause is about to come on. Then 
there are quarrels enough,—materials for future law-suits; 
Reside which this hall is the resort of all strangers in 
Dublin, and plenty of gay parties are to be seen pushing 
through the crowd and endeavouring to catch glimpses of 
some popular advocate. It is to be observed that in Ire¬ 
land the counsellors generally pactise in all the courts, 
hence the difficulty and labour is greatly increased, as it 
often happens that two important causes are going on at 
the same time in different courts, for which the same ad- 


234 


LEINSTER. 


vocate is engaged, and he is driven to the necessity of 
doing injustice to one or other of the parties. 

“ The multitudes of Irish barristers,” observed Mr. Mow¬ 
bray’s friend, “ may well astonish you! Crowds, as you see, 
fill our courts to the brim, and yet numbers are every term 
flocking in. It would truly surprise you to know the 
many fine young men, gifted with excellent abilities, who 
waste their lives here, waiting for practice which never 
comes ; they enter the profession without interest or for¬ 
tune, without, we may say, any reasonable chance of suc¬ 
cess, and here 1116 / live and die ; for many, no doubt, die 
of disorders occasioned by the impure, heated atmo¬ 
sphere ; besides which, the situation of the building is bad 
and unwholesome.” 

“ And what can it be,” asked Mr. Mowbray, u that occa¬ 
sions this amazing eagerness after the profession in Ire¬ 
land ?” 

“ Many causes co-operate,” replied his friend ; “ family 
pride is one; and I am inclined to attribute much to a genu¬ 
ine taste for legal disputation. Almost every man in Ire¬ 
land is mixed up in some way with these matters; the love 
of going to law is a most predominant passion with us. That 
must certainly be a very strong stimulus which produces 
such a result; and when an Irish barrister has worked his 
way to eminence, his is a post of immense labour. There 
are, however, many solid advantages connected with the 
profession to those who can obtain them : there are a 
good many judicial offices in the gift of government which 
fall into the hands of the lawyers, and which keep up the. 
hopes of the junior members. I must add,” he continued, 
“ that the independence of the Irish bar is very remarkable. 
There may be many causes in this country which lead an 
obnoxious individual to fear he may not be fairly dealt 
with when he comes to his trial; but he is always sure of 


DUBLIN'. 


235 


meeting with honest, courageous, indefatigable counsellors 
to plead his cause.” 

<£ I suppose you miss O’Connell,” observed Mr. Mow¬ 
bray, “ in this scene, above all ?” 

“ Indeed we do ! He was for general business, per¬ 
haps, the best advocate at the bar; and accordingly he 
was so much in request that scarce a day passed when the 
attorneys for two different causes (perhaps more) were 
not battling for him at the same moment. He is truly a 
wonderful man in diligence and activity. Even in a win¬ 
ter’s morning he might be found between five and six 
o’clock immersed in the business of his profession, writing 
or reading by candlelight. In the course of the day you 
would find him all life and spirits, in the more active ex¬ 
ercise of his profession. Again, in the evening, you would 
probably hear him making a long and vehement speech 
at some popular meeting, retiring to rest at a late hour, 
and again busied at day-break in the same pursuits !” 

The new streets and squares in Dublin were quite equal 
to Mr. Mowbray’s expectations; but the Castle where, 
when in Dublin, the Lord-Lieutenant resides, appeared to 
him a very uninviting dwelling. Situated in the old part of 
the city, surrounded by narrow streets and shabby build¬ 
ings, itself dark and dingy as the Tower in London, it 
looks far more like a prison than a regal dwelling. Yet 
the chapel is a fine building, very handsomely fitted up. 
The representative of royalty is more pleasantly lodged in 
the Phoenix Park, though there his dwelling does not equal 
that of many a private gentleman and nobleman in Eng¬ 
land ; but it is a lovely residence. Once enter the gates 
of this demesne, and you have all the variety of hill and 
dale, ravine, copse, and underwood; majestic trees, and 
lovely and changeful views of the distant scenery. The 
extent of this park may be about 3000 English acres, in- 


236 


LEINSTER. 


eluding the Zoological Gardens, constructed only within 
the last three years. 

“ And when will yer Honour go to Wicklow ?” asked 
Brady, one morning, with some anxiety, as Mr. Mowbray 
was enumerating his engagements for the next few days. 

<c Why, Brady ? what makes you in such a hurry about 
leaving Dublin ? surely here is plenty to amuse you ?” 

u Indeed, and to say truth, in regard of Dublin being in 
Ireland, ’tis the finest city in the world ! and none beside 
near to it! Your Honour’s right enough there! but, sure, 
the city’s a great one, and there’s not the natural look 
about it, as in the country ! Wasn’t I born and brought 
up on the iligant mountains in Wicklow ? and is it strange, 
now, if the big city of Dublin tries the head ? not but 
what it is, as your Honour says, a beautiful city ! Queen 
of the world it is !” 

“Well, Brady, it is natural for you to wish to go to see 
your own friends ; and I shall join you, probably, in an¬ 
other week. Meantime, I desire you would go down 
without me. I have really no particular use for you here; 
and you had much better spend your time among your 
mountains !” 

Brady protested and shuffled, and endeavoured to prove 
it was not to be thought of, leaving his Honour’s Honour; 
but it ended in his being packed off that evening in a re¬ 
turn car to Wicklow, while Mr. Mowbray, not at all sorry 
to be rid for a few days of his companion, whose loquacity 
was apt to be annoying, devoted himself to a more leisurely 
survey of the beauties of Dublin and its neighbourhood. 
He dined several times in the course of the week with 
different families at their country villas; and here, in¬ 
deed, it was that he found the neighbourhood of Dublin 
unrivalled in beauty. When a landscape is composed, 
like this, of mountains, valleys and bays of the sea, green 


DUBLIN. 


237 


lawns, and rich gardens, there must he an infinite variety. 
Every site shows something different in the outlines of the 
mountains, the windings of the coast, the glimpses of near 
and far-off promontories. Some exhibit the broad, still 
waters of the bay, spread out like a large lake, reflecting 
the hills and white houses on the opposite coast in its blue 
waters, while some present to the eye the wider expanse of 
the channel, with the hold headlands of Howtli, and the 
picturesque island of Ireland’s Eye; a rich basin of green 
slopes filling up the space between one projecting point 
and another, beautifully contrasted with the blue of the 
ocean. Again, some of these villas are among what are 
called the Dublin mountains, a chain of hills lower than 
their sister-elevations in Wicklow, and lying between 
Dublin and the latter : from them the prospects are far 
more extensive; all Dublin lies below, the panorama is 
crowded with objects of interest,—the hay, the city, the 
river, the shipping, the Wicklow coast, the vast assem¬ 
blage of country-houses and gardens dotting the sides of 
the hills. Sometimes, on a very clear day, a glimpse is 
caught even of the Welsh mountains. The foreground is 
probably well arranged, for the Irish are passionately 
fond of the picturesque, and their country-houses are all 
planned with a view to the enjoyment of the prospect. 

Luxuries of other kinds are not wanting; hut it is 
pleasant to see that pride in the beautiful scenery which 
surrounds him is the predominant feeling in an Irishman’s 
mind. And here I must mention another trait;—you may 
admit the poorest beggar in Ireland into your grounds, 
with confidence that he will admire without destroying 
what is your pleasure and pride. There is none of that 
wanton spirit of destruction which is so remarkable among 
the lower English. You will find the poorer Irishman 
doing mischief, no doubt, at times, when drink has made 


238 


LEINSTER. 


him irrational or quarrelsome; but the destructive acts 
of our poor, which are so much the more provoking be¬ 
cause they are often committed in the coolest and most 
sober manner imaginable, would, I am sure, excite no¬ 
thing but indignation in Paddy’s breast. 

At another time, a friend of Dr.-’s took Mr. Mow¬ 

bray up the Dublin mountains, not to visit a smiling villa ; 
but to admire the deep and wild seclusion of a small lake, 
distant little more than six miles from the capital. The 
road, a very good one, ascended in a zigzag for nearly four 
miles. At length, the first mountain being crossed, they 
entered a wild, dreary tract of mountain and bog land, 
hemmed in by hills on every side : after traversing this 
for a mile or two, they came to a barrack, the only dwell¬ 
ing visible for a considerable distance; here a narrow 
road turned off to the right, and brought them imme¬ 
diately to Loch Bray, a dark, still piece of water, a per¬ 
fect mountain tarn, embosomed in black hills and rocks. 

There was nothing soft or beautiful in the character of 
either the ride or the scene itself; it was all cold, dark, 
and stern; but, as a contrast to the smiling verdure of 
the mountain sides, and the gay-peopled domains which 
stretched down towards Dublin, it was remarkable; and 
from the force of contrast it attracts many a gay party, un¬ 
deterred by the long steep ascent, and the impossibility of 
obtaining shelter from the driving showers which often 
attack the invaders of this secluded mountain region. 

The passion of the Irish for these country excursions 
strikes every traveller. Go where you may among the 
mountains, you will meet with goodly cars full of citizens, 
on their way to breathe the mountain air. The poor 
horse first attracts your compassion : there he is, hapless 
animal, condemned to drag a load of some five or six peo¬ 
ple of all ages, not including the driver, up and down the 



DUBLIN". 


239 


hills, unaided and unrelieved, except when the passengers 
are kind enough to dismount at the foot of some long ascent, 
which, to do them justice, is generally done by a part at 
least of the company. Still the load is considerable. The 
well (the centre part) of the car generally contains two 
cloaks, two hoods, and at least one umbrella apiece for the 
whole party; and if you dive into the innermost recesses 
of that well, reader, prepare yourself for astonishment at 
its capacities ! Believe me, the Dublin citizens are well 
aivare of the stimulating effect of the mountain breezes 
upon the appetite. They are never known to forget the 
inner man ! Well do they know also how to dispense 
with the inn where there is one, and make up for its 
absence where there is not. Pies, puffs, sandwiches, ribs of 
beef, loaves, knives, forks, plates, bottles, nay tea, sugar, 
and all the etcseteras of the evening repast are gradually 
brought to light from that dark abyss. Sometimes the 
party is fortunate enough to obtain the liberty of spread¬ 
ing out the meal in one of those ornamental cottages of 
which there are many dispersed among the most fre¬ 
quented of the glens, or watering-places of resort; now 
and then he will even contrive not to lose his daily meal 
of potatoes, in the pleasures of admiring nature, for the 
cottagers are always willing to cook these useful and plen¬ 
tiful roots for the traveller for a very trifling gratuity. 
But woe to the pleasure parties which wholly depend for 
their enjoyment on fine skies and dry banks. Scarcely 
can a more uncomfortable spectacle be presented than 
that of an outside car travelling among the mountains in 
one of those pitiless rains which suddenly shut in the pros¬ 
pect, and compel the passengers to wrap themselves up in 
their cloaks and sport their umbrellas, the drippings from 
which generally meet, and lodge in a cool deluge on the 
shoulders of the neighbours behind or beside. All the 


240 


LEINSTER. 


while the lower limbs have no more shelter than the cloak 
is able to afford; when that fails the traveller must pursue 
his comfortless way without further protection. So moist 
is the climate, and so sudden and violent the showers, that, 
even in the finest day, fortunate are they who can escape 
without a wetting ; but it must be acknowledged that 
there is compensation in this ; the streams, the waterfalls, 
the mountains with their ever-changing, ever-beautiful 
aspects are kept constantly dewy and fresh; and the firm 
granite roads are dry in an hour after the most copious 
rains. 

Two roads leading to the county of Wicklow divided 
our traveller’s inclination ; the one skirting the coast, and 
commanding, he was well assured, fine views of the sea 
and intervening tracts ; the other steeper, more lonely 
and barren, crossing the Dublin mountains, and entering 
Wicklow by a very remarkable rent, called the Scalp, or 
Devil’s Bit; as, however, Mr. Mowbray had already tra¬ 
versed part of the coast-road on his way from Kingstown, 
he finally decided in favour of the latter. Nor did he 
repent his choice. It is true the way for several miles was 
not particularly interesting, and the views by no means 
equal to those on the Loch Bray road; but on reaching 
the Scalp he was well repaid, by the scene of exquisite 
beauty and softness which burst upon him. It was, in¬ 
deed, as a peep into some land of enchantment, the rocky 
mountain barrier suddenly opening, as it were, its yawn¬ 
ing portals, and disclosing a green, sunny basin, clothed in 
light and beauty far, far below him, while one above the 
other in the distance rose the Wicklow mountains; the 
Sugar-Loaf, always picturesque in its outline, and many- 
coloured in its details, crowning the whole. The road 
winding down the steep pointed to the little, white, clean 
village of Enniskerry, at the foot of the mountain; a 


ENNISKERRY. 


241 


stream ran murmuring through, the hollow, over broken 
rocks, and many a lovely scene well known to the frequent 
visitant, but only dimly discerned by the stranger, was 
pointed out as that which was hereafter to unfold its 
beauties to his nearer gaze. Enniskerry is ten Irish miles 
from Dublin, and is the head-quarters of many a Wicklow 
tourist, as well as a favourite lodging-place in the summer 
for invalids and families of citizens disposed to rusticate 
among the mountains. It is admirably situated for all 
these different classes of persons, a quarter of an hour’s 
walk bringing you into the cool, delicious shade of the Dar- 
gle, or into the wider sweep of the lawns of Powerscourt. 

At Enniskerry Mr. Mowbray found his faithful Brady, 
whose joy at the meeting was almost uncontrollable ; he 
had much to tell of his happiness among his people of the 
“ nate little cabin,” just by the very gate of the Dargle, 
where his aunt, bless her, contrived to live, and pay 
a handsome rent from the profits obtained by summer 
lodgers, for she had a beautiful parlour, and two bed¬ 
rooms, to say nothing of the servant’s attic, and comfort¬ 
able table in the kitchen, and the garden, which was as 
pretty a place as could be shown in Ireland, all sown with 
roses, and a good potatoe ground beside. And there were 
two lodgers now, added Brady, a young lady and her 
father, who had spoken very kind to him, and welcomed 
him back to Ireland. Then some of Brady’s brothers and 
sisters were bestowed in the neighbouring country; one 
of the former was a gardener in a gentleman’s family, near 
Dolgelly, and one of the latter was married to a little inn¬ 
keeper ; but all, according to Brady’s account, were in a 
thriving way and well to do with the Wicklow gentry, 
and he was glad of it, for though the gentry were, what 
he thought, over-strict Protestants, his people had served 
them quietly and faithfully many a year, and had never 

R 


242 


LEINSTER. 


been hindered in their religion, if they did but keep steady 
to what they professed. 

Brady was extremely impatient to show Mr. Mowbray 
the Dargle, and as soon as he had engaged his lodging for 
the night, he was willing to be guided to this favourite 
haunt of the Dublin tourists. A hill has to be ascended 
on leaving Enniskerry, then the road is carried on high 
ground for some distance, in fact, along the top of the 
rocky barrier which forms one side of the dark glen ; but 
it descends again abruptly, and conducts to the base of 
this cliff, and the gate of the Dargle. 

Mr. Mowbray had seen Matlock, and he was inclined to 
give it the preference, on account of the more picturesque 
forms of the rocks, and the peculiar beauty of the river ; 
but there are points of superiority in the Irish glen ; the 
depth of shade on either side, the noble trees standing out 
from the dark rock, the occasional openings through which 
one discerns the lovely green slopes of Mr. Grattan’s mea¬ 
dows beyond, and the mountain terminations of the pros¬ 
pect, give a degree of completeness to the scene. The 
stream, too, is brawling, clear, and rapid. On emerging 
from the glen, and coming into the breezy slopes beyond, 
there was perfect contrast to the close, dark, rocky shade in 
the glen. Here all was high cultivation, and quiet, gentle 
beauty, in the rich, green basin ; hills bounded each side, 
while the Sugar-Loaf, as usual, rose in calm majesty—the 
Wicklow monarch—towards whose grand form the eye is 
perpetually turning, whose presence finishes and dignifies, 
as it were, every scene. 

It was painful to turn from these lovely prospects to an¬ 
swer the frequent appeals of beggars, troops of whom, un¬ 
able to enter the private domains of the gentry, lounge 
near the gates or inns, or on the roadside. Many of these 
are regular Dublin beggars; but some are from distant 


E XXI SKERRY. 


243 


pans of tlie country, where poverty prevails to a far 
greater extent than in the countv of Wicklow. That 
county is generally reputed rich, and well shielded from 
the miseries of which so much has been heard; but vet 
Mr. Mowbray was strttck by the want and wretchedness of 
a large proportion of the population. He made, of course, 
allowances for the mere habits of the lower orders. He 
knew that going without shoes and stockings was no proof 
that the individual could not afford to buy them, and that 
a dirty house and the company of the pig were no discom¬ 
forts to many a poor Irish woman. But when he came to 
question the respectable innkeeper at Enniskerry, and to 
visit the poor cabins themselves, he soon saw that it is 
quite a mistake to think the Irish labourer trell off, even in 
Wicklow. He found most on wages of sixpence a day, some 
only fivepence : the rent of their miserable cottages, some¬ 
times withotxt any land, was about £2 , or, in lieu of this, 
eighty days’ labour, which, deducted from the year’s earn¬ 
ings, left but a miserable pittance for a wife and family. 
The small farmers, too, were complaning : rents could not 
by possibility be paid out of the produce; and, though 
there was great competition for land, few landlords could 
reckon on being paid their dues. They seemed to live 
little better than the labourers, only adding buttermilk to 
their potatoes; yet these are the people to whose lot it 
chieily falls to support the beggars. 

Brady was delighted to see how much his master 
enjoyed the beautiful scenery around the Hargle and 
Powerscourt, and contrived to find so many new walks 
and rides that several days passed and still they were at 
Enniskerry. On the Sunday there was strong attraction 
in the simple, rural church of Powerscourt, which lies in a 
deep, shady valley, and owes nothing to show or ornament, 
though attended by the high and titled families which sur- 

r 2 


244 


LEINSTER. 


round it. Here Mr. Mowbray beard an excellent sermon 
from tlie respected preacher, and was pleased to witness 
the attention of the congregation. From Powerscourt he 
went to Dolgelly, a few miles distant, situated close to the 
Glen of the Downs,—a striking scene, but less retired and 
less interesting from its publicity, tlie high road passing 
through it. Dolgelly church is beautifully situated in a 
hollow between rising hills, at the head of a bay, and there 
are points of view in which, owing to the projection of the 
coast, the sea takes the appearance of a fine glassy lake. 
Tlie church, village, and nearly all the surrounding country 
is the property of the Latouclie family, resident at the ad¬ 
jacent mansion of Belle Vue. The church is considerably 
more ornate than that of Powerscourt, and the monuments 
are pompous ; but the exterior, and the beautiful appear¬ 
ance of the schools, cottages, &c. made the traveller for¬ 
get he was in Ireland ; and, in fact, Dolgelly is a sort of 
feudal property, and little likely to become the scene of 
“ agitation.” Tlie Glen of the Downs is on the high road 
to Rathdrum, Arklow, &c. and Mr. Mowbray pursued his 
way to the former place, turning off, however, after a 
few miles, to a more wild and rugged road, which was to 
conduct him to Glendalougli, the celebrated valley of the 
seven churches. In this place, though it is undoubtedly 
an object of great interest to the antiquarian, and of some 
also to the lovers of wild mountain scenery, he was on the 
whole disappointed ; there was neither sufficient height in 
the mountains, nor sufficient breadth and extent in the 
lake, to give it a character of sublimity, and the absence 
of verdure, the desolate aspect of the whole, took away all 
idea of beauty. All was stillness, ruin, and gloom; nor 
could the ceaseless stories of las guide, the famous Joe 
Irwin, dispel the melancholy of the place. Among the 
ruins of the churches rose one of tlie old round-towers of 


VALE OF AVOCA. 


245 


Ireland, and farther on, on the left of the lake, the singu¬ 
lar rock, called St. Kevin’s Bed, was pointed out to him. 

A far more pleasing scene was the beautiful glen, called 
the Devil’s Glen, which Mr. Mowbray next visited. This 
is private property, and entered only by an order from the 
neighbouring proprietor. A narrow road, just wide enough 
for a carriage, conducts along one side of this glen, nearly at 
the bottom, while a brawling stream fills up the remaining 
space, and the rocks rise majestically and abruptly from 
the other side. Thus the traveller may proceed for a mile 
and a half; sometimes the path seems entirely barred by 
the projecting face of the rock, but he winds round, or 
crosses a small arch, and finds the glen still open before 
him. It is by no means so dark and sheltered as the 
Dargle ; not that there is any deficiency of wood, but the 
mountains recede at the top, and admit more of the sun’s 
rays. One great additional beauty is derived from the 
splendid appearance of the heath, which completely covers 
the side of the mountain. The peculiar scenery of the 
glen terminates in a small waterfall. From hence to Rath- 
drum was an interesting ride, and further on the traveller 
enters the Valley of Avoca, celebrated as “The Meeting 
of the Waters,” a scene of soft and tranquil beauty, which, 
though devoid of any thing sublime , is, and always must 
be, a source of great attraction to a traveller who loves 
nature in her gentler aspects. The valley is about five 
miles long, perhaps about a quarter ot a mile broad. The 
river is bright and flowing; and the hills on either side 
are covered with wood, chiefly ash, birch, and fir, together 
with green holly, laurel, &c. Briar-roses, too, are lavishly 
bestowed on this region, and wild flowers of all sorts are 
in great beauty and perfection. The road to Arklow from 
Avoca is very beautiful. The town itself is poor and un¬ 
interesting; but near it is a mountain, once an object of 


24G 


LEINSTER. 


great interest to the neighbourhood, inasmuch as in its 
bowels was discovered a gold mine, which for a little time 
proved productive. In less than two months after the 
vein was discovered, namely in 179G, the peasants had ob¬ 
tained 2,000 ounces of gold. It was then taken posses¬ 
sion of in the king’s name ; hut is now utterly neglected 
and profitless. A little further on is the town of Gorey; 
and at a short distance from the sea-coast is Courtown, 
one of the most beautiful demesnes in Ireland, the pro¬ 
perty of Lord Courtown. The lovely evergreens sur¬ 
rounding and sheltering the house, and the soft green 
slopes to the sea, excited Mr. Mowbray’s admiration. On, 
however, they were obliged to go to Ferns, where Mr. 
Mowbray had a friend, chaplain to the bishop, whom he 
had promised to visit. Ferns is in itself a poor town ; but 
the bishop’s palace and grounds are handsome, and there 
are ruins of some interest and beauty in the neighbour¬ 
hood. The country is pleasant, and under pretty good 
cultivation. The people looked in general rather more 
respectably clad than the poorer Irish usually are; the 
cabins had mostly windows and chimneys; and the crops 
were good. 

The Enniscorthy and Wexford road is a fine one, and as 
the traveller approaches the latter town he is struck with 
the number of good houses on either side of the way. On 
reaching the place itself, however, there is disappointment; 
a long and very narrow street, and a longer suburb, in¬ 
habited chiefly by fishermen ; a few short side streets, and 
a quay running, parallel to the main one, through the vil¬ 
lage. Yet the shops are good; there is much business, 
and, as Brady observed with pride, they were not once 
asked for alms from the moment of coming in to that of 
going out. 

It proved that Wexford was a very favourite station with 


WEXFOltD. 


247 


Brady ; one of his maternal-uncles, a farmer, lived within 
a few miles of the place ; and he persuaded his master to 
accompany him on his first visit. Mr. Mowbray would 
have scrupled interrupting the first greetings, but soon 
found that his going would be esteemed the greatest com¬ 
pliment that could be paid to the servant; it would be the 
making of him, Brady said, with his o\Vn people : so good- 
humouredly, and very willing at the same time to indulge 
his own curiosity, Mr. Mowbray hired one of Bianconi’scars, 
and proceeded, under Brady’s guidance, over a very tole¬ 
rable though lonely road, towards the farm-house. It was 
a long, straggling sort of building, none of the most in¬ 
viting in outward aspect. The yards were dirty, and the 
dunghill was much too near the kitchen door; when 
that kitchen door, too, was opened, the room looked very 
unlike that of an English farm-house. The floor dark and 
unswept, no bright show of kitchen utensils, no polished 
table or chairs, all rough and substantial; yet any one 
who had looked into the utensils themselves would have 
found them clean, and no one could say there was any 
want of care in making the butter, or preparing the family 
food. It was a stopping short at the point where a house¬ 
wife begins to get credit for her housewifery; a total lack 
of that taste for smartness and polish which pervades an 
English establishment, though of humble degree. What 
Irish cook would ever dream of scouring the outside of 
her copper saucepans, and setting them out on the shelves 
for ornament! enough for her if they be clean within, and 
huddled up in some corner till wanted ; and then, again, 
the floor may not really be dirty ; but what does it signify 
to have it made of a material that will at once show its 
cleanliness ? The large array of cows and calves in 
the farm-yard betokened some prosperity, Mr. Mowbray 
thought, and he soon found that the stock of fowls, 


248 


LEINSTER. 


pigs, &c. was equally extensive. The noise and clatter 
among the domestic animals was positively stunning, and 
above all rose a strong, clear voice, singing an Irish 
melody. 

“ Arrah, now!” exclaimed Pat, in his broadest tone, “if 
it isn’t the voice of my own cousin Judith O’Connor, bless 
her! sure I’d know it out of a thousand ! Judy, my dear, 
and how are you ?” added he, jumping from the car, and 
throwing his arms round the damsel’s neck, at the same 
time bestowing a hearty kiss upon her. 

Judy looked at first startled and inclined to resent the 
familiarity; but presently recognising her old friend and 
playfellow, laughed heartily, and returned his salutation in 
Irish. 

“ Whisht, Judy, whisht! can’t ye speak the English 
now ? Don’t bring disgrace on the schoolmaster before 
the gentleman! Don’t I know ye can speak it beautiful?” 

Judy, thus recalled to good manners, dropped a curtsy 
to Mr. Mowbray, and called her mother, who was scouring 
the churn within, “ Mother, mother ! come and see who 
it is at the door! sure ’tis a happy day, and a glorious 
one!” 

The mother came, screamed for joy when she saw 
Brady, hugged and kissed him, and called the husband 
and every man, woman, and child about the premises to 
'welcome their wanderer to his native land. Yet the 
gentleman was not forgotten. In that beautiful and ex¬ 
pressive strain of courtesy which often astonishes the 
English traveller in Ireland, they invoked a blessing on 
him, gave him welcome, and invited them to come in and 
do them honour. The horse was taken out of the car 
before he could answer, and he himself almost carried 
into the best apartment. And soon it appeared that all 
the business of the family was to be put aside on the 


I 


WEXFORD. 249 

important occasion,—tlie cliurn was hastily emptied and 
put by, things were set into their Sunday places. The 
maids ran up stairs to doff their soiled caps, and put on 
their holiday gowns. The mistress arranged her clean 
apron, and gave orders for dressing a tine pair of fowls, 
which had been prepared for Wexford market; the best 
table cloth was laid, the potatoes set on, and butter, eggs, 
&c. produced ; a fine bottle of whiskey graced the corner 
also ; and the host filled his pipe, and invited Mr. Mow¬ 
bray and Brady to do the same. Brady was at the top of 
his glory, and not even his master’s presence could restrain 
his boastful accounts of his own prosperity. He told one 
traveller’s story after another, each more marvellous than 
the rest, while his cousins gaped and stared. In the even¬ 
ing dancing was proposed, and nothing could exceed the 
spirit with which the amusement was kept up. Even the 
old farmer and his wife figured in the fandango, and Mr. 
Mowbray was not excused, but selected as the partner 
of the fair cousin Judy. Not till late at night were the 
festivities concluded, and few of the party went home 
sober. 

A difficulty now presented itself, Mr. Mowbray’s driver 
was found to be in no state to guide himself, much less his 
horse and car, to Wexford ; but with the pertinacity com¬ 
mon to people in this condition, he still insisted upon it 
that he was “ capable, quite entirely capablethat no¬ 
body else should touch John O’Toole’s horse and car, 
while he was alive to guide them; and he put himself into 
a boxing attitude, and kept guard over the vehicle, swear¬ 
ing that he would knock down the first man, barring his 
Honour’s Honour, who should come near him. 

Willing to avoid a broil, for there were plenty of ex¬ 
cited people around him, Mr. Mowbray called the farmer 
aside, and asked whether he could not compass his point 


250 


LEINSTER. 


by stratagem. The farmer shook his head. “ These fel¬ 
lows are too sharp for that !” said he, “ unless you 
thoroughly stupify an Irishman by drink, there is no such 
thing as managing him, but by main force, and I be¬ 
lieve that will be the best plan, and most to his master’s 
liking.” 

“ But how so ?” 

“ Leave that to me,” said the farmer. In a few 
minutes, and after a brief consultation with his wife and 
daughter, the good man again returned. “ The mistress 
has it!” said he, “ only let the women alone for managing 
a man, sober and drunk !” 

Accordingly, to Mr. Mowbray’s great diversion, the fair 
Judy came forth, and began to address the refractory 
driver. “ I wonder, now, John O’Toole, such a sinsible 
man as you are should demane yourself to stand and be 
laughed at by the boys in that manner. Why, man, I’m 
ashamed of ye entirely ! Why will ye condescend to drive 
them that don’t care to have ye ? Sure if ye were a lad 
of spirit, John, ye would leave ’em to find their way as 
they could, and let them break the car, and spoil the horse 
all to naught, if they -will! Sure ’tis they must pay, and 
not you !” 

“ Troth, Miss Judy, dear, and ’tis sinsible advice ! I’m 
thinking myself ’tis no ways becoming in me to stand 
here offering to them that has no mind to me ! but what 
will I do to be left behind ? and how will I get to Wex¬ 
ford ?” 

“As to that, John, them that left ye must answer it. 
Oh, I know what I would do if it were mine ! Go to sleep 
like a Christian in the shed yonder, and leave ’em to make 
out their own story !” 

“ Indeed, Miss Judy, you’re a sinsible woman, besides 
a pretty ! only I’d like to see wlio’d touch the car and the 


WEXFORD. 


251 


horse, bless him! and I, John O’Toole, not by to knock 
him on the head outright!” 

“ Sure, and can’t I tell ye all about it as well ? and won’t 
it he time enough to knock him dow r n in the morning ?” 

“ True for you, and thank ye kindly, Miss Judy! 
where’s the shed ?” 

“ Where should it be, but here, hard by ? Look in, man, 
and see if all isn’t iligant !” 

John staggered into the shed, and no sooner had he 
passed the threshold than Miss Judy slapped-to the door, 
latched, bolted, and made it perfectly secure, while the 
Irishman, only then suspecting a trick, began to roar and 
shout for release most vigorously. 

“ Never mind it at all !” said the farmer, quietly calling 
forward his steward, a trusty, sober-looking, middle-aged 
man, “Mick, mount the box in a trice, and drive the 
gentleman to Wexford in no time ! I will send O’Toole 
up in the morning ! Good evening to yer Honour ! and 
thanks for yer Honour’s company and presence !” 

“ And if ever the gentleman comes this way, we hope 
he won’t forget us !” added the mistress ; “And, Brady, 
lad, take care of yourself ! Arn’t ye a lucky boy, now, to 
sarve the raal gintleman ? mind, ye rogue, ye don’t dis¬ 
grace yer birth and edication !” 

“ Thank ye, cousin, kindly ! No fear n’that! sure its 
too proud I am of ye all, Judy specially!” 

The night was far spent before Mr. Mowbray arrived 
at the inn at Wexford. The next morning he went to 
Mr. Bianconi’s establishment himself, at an early hour, 
wishing to see the principal manager of the concern at 
Waterford, and intercede for poor O’Toole. Bianconi’s 
agent smiled, but shook his head. “ It is his old fault, 
sir; depend upon it we must turn him off, or lie will 
do us some serious mischief. Mr. Bianconi is very 


252 


LEINSTER. 


particular about the sobriety of his drivers, and would 
be very angry if he knew we retained one like O’Toole; 
besides, better now while he is young and capable of 
work than by and by, when he is old and feeble.” 

Mr. Mowbray pleaded for the poor fellow, but felt it was 
but just to the public that he should be removed from his 
station ; his intercessions only extended to the point of 
some more fitting employment being, if possible, found for 
him. 

“Never fear, sir,” said the agent, “Mr. Bianconi is too 
kind not to take the interest of the poor fellow to heart: 
you will scarcely believe it, perhaps, but out of all his nu¬ 
merous drivers, there is not one whom he does not know, 
and treat almost with fatherly care. When they are in¬ 
firm or fall sick, they and their families are sure to be 
taken care of, and even his horses have an hospital to go 
to when they are ill. Mr. Bianconi has, of course, had 
great experience of the faults of the people here, and 
though, as the proprietor of so many public carriages, he 
cannot possibly keep a drunkard in his service, he has 
great compassion for drunkards ; he knows the poor Irish¬ 
man, who has scarce any other indulgence, finds it very 
hard to abstain from occasionally taking too much of his 
favourite whiskey.” 

“Well, I see I cannot leave him in better hands, and I 
will leave a few shillings with you for his family, 
should he be for a time without work. I feel, in part, 
guilty of the poor fellow’s offence, having taken him to a 
merry-making. And now, driver, let me see the Baron 
of Forth,” said Mr. Mowbray, mounting a fresh car, and 
addressing a very steady, sober man, particularly recom¬ 
mended to him by the agent of Mr. Bianconi. Our 
readers may not be aware what there is in the Barony of 
Forth to awaken curiosity; we will, therefore, tell them 


BARONY OF FORTH. 


253 


that it is a district extending for about fifteen miles south¬ 
west of Wexford, inhabited by the descendants of a colony 
of people from South Wales. Until very lately nothing 
but Welsh was spoken in this district, and it is still the 
language of the more ancient people; but the peculiarity 
of habit remains still more strongly in other respects; the 
people are clean, industrious, sober, and provident. Mr. 
Mowbray’s driver proved to be one of them, and was 
therefore a fitting person to do the honours of Forth ; he 
pointed out one smiling neat farm-house after another, 
clusters of clean, comfortable cottages, with gay gardens, 
and with flower-pots in the windows, and seemed to take 
pride in Mr. Mowbray’s admiration, and to bear, with 
much civil contempt, a disparaging remark or two which 
Brady, for the honour of his countrymen, thought it right 
now and then to fling in; sometimes he insinuated that the 
people of the Barony were a set of graceless heretics, not 
worthy of the name of Christian, because the driver inti¬ 
mated that Catholic, Churchman, and Protestant Dissent¬ 
er found themselves able to live at peace with each other 
in this district; and much did he jeer at the barley-bread 
and tea in which the farmers were indulging, in preference 
to potatoe fare. Somewhat provoked at his bigotry and 
impertinence, Mr. Mowbray bade him hold his tongue, 
and not join the ranks of those who would rather see Ire¬ 
land sunk in misery and want than be indebted to the 
good examples of her neighbours for her improvement; 
and Brady slunk sulkily back in his seat. 

Though the road they had taken was a digression from 
Mr. Mowbray’s projected road to New Ross, he was well 
repaid for a pretty long circuit, and enjoyed some pleasant 
glimpses of the River Barrow as he approached its banks 
and drew near to Ross. This river divides the counties 
of Kilkenny and Wexford, and its banks are extremely 


254 


LEINSTER. 


pretty, abounding in fine and extensive park-like domains. 
The town, unaptly called New Ross, is, in reality, very 
old, though partially re-built; it is not a thriving place, 
though possessed of many advantages, the river affording 
the means of ready exportation for agricultural produce. 
Here our traveller halted a night, and proceeded to Tlio- 
mastown, his next stage, to breakfast next morning,'but 
before reaching this place his eyes were doomed to behold 
many sad spectacles. It seemed to him, that the people 
in this district were peculiarly wretched and poor: so 
many beggars he had not yet seen as he beheld this day, 
or such miserable cabins, and having strongly in his mind 
the spectacle of the peace and_ comfort of the day pre¬ 
ceding, he could not help pointing out to Brady, who was 
by no means restored to good humour, the melancholy dif¬ 
ference. 

“No doubt, your Honour, no doubt, the poor craturs look 
well nigh starving; nevertheless, I’d like to know which 
most desarves to be well fed—these same, or those sleek 
Welsh rogues we saw yesterday. Ocli! they’re a cunning 
set !” 

“ Not more than these, I’ve a notion,” thought Mr. 
Mowbray, as one set of beggars after another, with every 
variety of tale, wrought up to every degree of pathos or 
of flattery, assailed him. He gently pushed aside the ap¬ 
plicants, whose numbers made it utterly impossible for 
them to obtain relief, and took refuge in the inn; but, to 
eat his breakfast in quiet was denied him; the beggars 
drew up in double file before the window—they would 
take no denial, and Mr. Mowbray was actually driven to 
the necessity of closing his shutters and calling for lights, 
that he might be free for half an hour from importunity. 
It was difficult to imagine what was the peculiar occasion 
of this distress; for many of these people were not wan- 


THOMAS TOWN. 


255 


dering beggars, they were the wives and children of la¬ 
bourers without employment. The landlords were spo¬ 
ken of as not unkind or oppressive ; but it was plain that 
the people were too many for the means of subsistence : 
there was neither employment nor food for the greater 
part, and from the great competition for land, tenants pro¬ 
mised to give, and landlords were induced to ask, higher 
rents than could be paid, without racking the land and 
ruining the farmer; few could keep the same farm long, 
and all were eager to snatch a corner of the soil. It was 
in this neighbourhood that Mr. Erris, one of Mr. Mow¬ 
bray’s oldest friends, resided, and he had all along planned 
a visit to that gentleman’s house before proceeding to Kil¬ 
kenny : it was gratifying, therefore, to find, by a letter left 
for him at Tliomastown, that Mr. Erris was eagerly ex¬ 
pecting him, and ordering the car to be made ready, he 

gave directions to be driven to L-House without 

delay. What a beautiful residence ! Were it not for the 
painful thoughts that will crowd upon the mind when, 
however lovely may be the paradise which wealth creates 
around a proprietor, he cannot close [his eyes to the sight 
of human misery the moment his foot passes the boundary 
of his domain, how perfect would seem the happiness of 
such a place of retirement! 

“ I know not how it is,” said Mrs. Erris the next morn¬ 
ing to her guest, “ but, with all we can do for our poor 
neighbours, I find it impossible to avoid a sort of self-re¬ 
proach every time I enter our park and see our gate closed 
against these poor creatures; it needs the firmest con¬ 
viction that we are not selfish reasoners to keep us up 
against the sense of our own apparent selfishness.” 

“ Apparently, only, I am persuaded, Louisa,” said her 
husband, “I have been, for these twenty years, labouring 
to dispose of my money in such a way as shall most con- 



25 G 


LEINSTER. 


duce to the good of my fellow-creatures. I have asked 
myself again and again the question, whether society 
would ultimately he the better, if I and other landed or 
monied inhabitants were to throw all our property into one 
common fund for the relief of the distressed, and, I never 
could obtain from my heart or conscience other than a 
negative answer. I do not believe that even the existing 
race of beggars would receive more than a very smali de¬ 
gree of benefit ; and if every landed proprietor here had 
the heart to do what is right and just by his neighbours, I 
am quite persuaded there would be more good effected, 
tenfold, than under any system of equalization. I do not 
eat my money, nor bury it, but endeavour to employ it as 
usefully as I can. Another year I hope you will see an 
improvement, for many of our poor are now convinced of 
the absolute necessity of emigration ; part of what we give 
shall be given for the purpose of fitting them out com¬ 
fortably, and when the numbers are more in proportion to 
the means of employment, you will see that we shall do 
much better; your school will be far more useful, then, 
Louisa.” 

“ Yes, indeed, I hope so,” said his wife with a sigh. 
“ It is something to keep those children out of idleness for 
a few years ; but now, when they leave us, we have no 
chance of finding employment for them, and you know the 
consequences.” 

“ And does your school, my dear madam,” said Mr. 
Mowbray, “ meet with opposition on the ground of reli¬ 
gious differences ?” 

“ Oh no, not at all, happily. I have a Protestant mis¬ 
tress, and we give protestant instruction to all who belong 
to our fold, separately; but the great majority of the 
children are of Catholic parents, and no objection is made 
by the priest or themselves to their attendance.” 


KILKENNY. 


257 


“ Of course,” observed Mr. Erris, “ our character is es¬ 
tablished for honesty , or we should not be permitted to do 
even thus much: we have no conversionary stratagems, 
but we tell the people plainly, that we think, if they read 
the Bible, they will find it difficult to remain Catholics, 
and that our instruction must so far be considered as dan¬ 
gerous to their early belief, and I have no doubt it is so. 
We have certainly a much increased attendance at our 
church among the younger people; still I believe the 
priests find we have gone too far to be safely opposed, and 
they reserve their influence for private occasions.” 

Mr. Mowbray was delighted with the beautiful and 
luxuriant growth of the trees in this domain; again he 
saw the laurel and arbutus, not dwarfy stunted shrubs, 
but trees, full, vigorous trees, sending forth wide-spreading 
branches all around, while the rich, broad-leafed Irish ivy 
hung in festoons wherever it could obtain a hold for its 
tendrils. The cattle covered the green pastures, and the 
richly filled dairies testified to the goodness of the soil and 
its products. He left his friend’s house with many wishes 
for its continued prosperity, satisfied that, in spite of all 
the misery he had seen, good was unquestionably working 
out. Mr. Erris accompanied him to Kilkenny, and as our 
traveller had heard little previously of that town and its 
objects of interest, he found ample cause to rejoice in his 
escort. 

Kilkenny is a very striking town; it is beautifully 
situated, approached by a double avenue of lofty trees, 
and, without the prelude of a miserable suburb, one enters 
at once a broad street, above which are visible the gothic 
towers of the venerable castle, rising amid surrounding 
wood : the tall cathedral, the spires of various churches, 
all interspersed with wood ; the ruins of two abbeys, the 
river Nore and its bridges—all these require time and 

s 


258 


LEINSTER. 


close inspection to awaken their full and just proportion 
of interest. The antiquity of the place is unquestioned— 
first, for the castle, the successive property of a long line 
of Ormondes, first built by Strongbow in the twelfth cen¬ 
tury : the present Marquis is almost rebuilding it, but the 
ancient towers are retained. The cathedral, the largest 
in Ireland, with the exception of St. Patrick’s in Dublin, 
is full of interesting objects: outwardly it is striking, being 
surrounded by venerable trees, and standing in close fel¬ 
lowship with one of the round-towers of the country. Co¬ 
lumns of black marble separate the nave from the side- 
aisles, and besides some interesting monuments formed of 
the same handsome neighbouring material, is the stone 
chair of St. Ivievan, who is said to have preceded St. 
Patrick in his mission for the conversion of Ireland. 

Besides the cathedral, the remains of two abbeys exhibit 
some fine and interesting relics of past times; and shift¬ 
ing from the past to the present, the marble quarries, si¬ 
tuated about a mile out of the town, are well worthy of a 
visit. The mills for sawing and polishing employ a good 
many individuals, and the marble itself is well known and 
prized for its beauty; its black ground, variegated with a 
thousand shells, makes a beautiful polish, and is univer¬ 
sally used for chimney-pieces in the neighbourhood. Kil¬ 
kenny coal is also famous for its quality of burning with¬ 
out either smoke or flame, but its sulphureous exhalations 
are extremely unpleasant, and unfit it for culinary pur¬ 
poses-. 

At Kilkenny Mr. Mowbray had proposed parting with 
his friend, but just as they were preparing to take leave 
of each other, a letter was brought to Mr. Erris, an¬ 
nouncing that his presence was required at a trial that 
day proceeding at the Carlow assizes, and our traveller 
readily accepted a seat in the carriage, and proceeded with 


CARLOW. 


259 


his friend across Kilkenny county towards the busy county- 
town of Carlow. The River Barrow, upon which this 
town is built, equally the property of Kilkenny and of Car- 
low counties, and affords an easy conveyance for the coal, 
marble, &c. of the former, southward, towards New Ross 
and Waterford. Kildare county, also, approaches very 
near to Carlow at its capital town. The country is popu¬ 
lous and cultivated, and the communication with Dublin, 
by means of a canal, has contributed to its improvement. 
The bustle of the assizes being added to the usual business 
of the town, it presented a very lively aspect. Mr. Mow¬ 
bray attended the Court-house, and was much amused at 
times, and often touched by the mingled shrewdness and 
natural pathos of the poorer Irish on their appearance be¬ 
fore the magistrates, to plead excuse for guilt, or urge their 
claim to justice. Brady was of course never absent, for 
the Irish have a real taste for law, and nothing can exceed 
the eagerness with which they watch the proceedings of a 
court of justice. Among the cases which excite most in¬ 
terest are those which concern the interests of the different 
“factions” as they are called, of the people : of these there 
are sure to be many every assizes, and Mr. Mowbray’s 
friend was summoned as a witness upon one of them. 
He had been at Kilkenny fair when two rival factions 
were engaged in a most desperate battle: it was easy to 
see that the thing had been regularly planned before¬ 
hand : they all came armed with bludgeons, and most des¬ 
perate and cruel was the strife. It was sworn by Mr. Erris 
and one or two other respectable witnesses, that so deadly 
was the wrath of the combatants, that no quarter was 
given to a fallen antagonist, and that several of the beaten 
faction received their death-blows long after they had been 
put out of condition to fight on this occasion:—but the 
difficulty was to identify the offenders. Though, among 

s 2 


260 


LEINSTER. 


the factions, scarce a man was absent against whom no ca¬ 
pital charge could be brought, yet the murderers them¬ 
selves were missing, or, if present, were disguised beyond 
the power of recognition. All the witnesses of one party 
professed themselves to have been mere lookers-on, and all 
the witnesses on the other side said the same. An Irish¬ 
man will deny any thing, or affirm any thing to save one 
of his faction from punishment. Mr. Mowbray learnt, 
with much pleasure, that the magistrates were beginning 
to bestir themselves to prevent these brutalizing fights. It 
was some comfort, indeed, to know this, for enough was 
made out, though with infinite difficulty, to fix the charge 
of homicide upon a ferocious-looking man belonging to the 
triumphant party at Kilkenny fair, and the execrations and 
threatenings of his faction sounded bodingly in the ears 
of the bystanders. 

Mr. Mowbray would have been very willing to spend 
another day at Carlow with the friends who had shown 
him hospitality, as the fellow-traveller of Mr. Erris, who 
was universally beloved and respected ; but he wished to 
return to Dublin, fearing that the season would be too far 
advanced to admit of his taking a farther excursion in 
a more northerly direction previous to his return to Eng¬ 
land ; to Kildare, therefore, he proceeded on his way to¬ 
wards the capital. It was, he knew, worth his while to 
view this very ancient place, in former times encompassed 
by a gloomy forest of oaks, but now approached by the 
most beautiful of race-courses, called the Curragli, compris¬ 
ing an extent of 3000 acres, and presenting the remains of 
several barrows or raths. The seat of the ancient nunnery, 
founded by St. Bridget, within whose walls a perpetual sa¬ 
cred fire was kept burning from A.D. 500 to 1220, is still 
pointed out, and the beautiful and perfect round tower 
rises in the church-yard to the height of a hundred and 


MAYNOOTH. 


2G1 


thirty feet. From this town to Dublin there are many in¬ 
teresting antiquities. Naas, formerly fortified by strong 
castles, and the residence of the ancient kings of Leinster, 
in which were also held many state assemblies. Half a 
mile south of the town is a mansion, built by Stafford in 
his prosperity, but soon abandoned on his attainder. From 
thence, a pleasant ride through a populous country, brought 
our traveller to Dublin, from which place Naas is distant 
little more than fifteen miles, and here he was glad to re¬ 
main a few days, finding letters of business awaiting his 
arrival, and notes of friendly enquiry from some of the 
hospitable citizens, announcing plans for his amusement, 
which merely awaited his re-appearance to be put into 
execution. 

• • • • • 

One of the most interesting of the excursions which, in 
consequence of arrangements thus made for him, Mr. 
Mowbray was induced to make, was one which he had in¬ 
deed previously projected: it was to the Catholic College 
of Maynooth. This is situated in Kildare, but to the north 
of his former road through that county. The ride is de¬ 
lightful. The party did more than pass through Leixlip— 
they halted at th is place, the attractive resort of hundreds 
and thousands of Dublin citizens during the strawberry 
season—for Leixlip is renowned for its extensive and pro¬ 
ductive strawberry-banks. Scenery, equally soft and rich, 
borders both sides of the river Leffy, whose clear and rapid 
stream accompanies the traveller to Leixlip, and when 
there he will only find a difficulty in selecting his domicile 
amid the ornamental cottages and tea-drinking places 
which invite his attention on every side. Three and a half 
miles further and you reach Maynooth. Here the grand 
object is the college ; it is an extensive, imposing building, 
separated from the town by a spacious enclosed area, and 


2G2 


LEINSTER. 


it is kept in excellent order and repair. The number of 
students varies, but is in general from four to five hun¬ 
dred, and they are admitted at a very early age. The 
parliamentary annual grant of £9000 for the support of this 
college, is a continual subject of disputation. It was done 
from the best motives : the Catholic being the prevailing 
religion of the country, it was considered highly desirable 
to provide the means of education for the priesthood at 
home ; otherwise, it was urged, the numerous young men 
desirous of devoting themselves to that office would be 
obliged to resort to foreign countries, from whence they 
might bring home notions and habits quite irreconcilable 
with their position as British subjects. In fact, before the 
endowment of Maynootli, the Irish had no resource but in 
their foreign establishments : they had colleges at Sala¬ 
manca, at Valladolid, and at Paris. These are, of course, 
now little resorted to ; although Salamanca in particular, 
is in such high repute as a school of divinity, that the most 
distinguished among the Irish priesthood are very thank¬ 
ful to avail themselves of its advantages. Doctor Murray, 
the present Catholic Archbishop of Dublin, was a student 
of Salamanca, and so also was his predecessor Dr. Doyle. 
It cannot be doubted, that the facility of education af¬ 
forded by Maynootli has swelled the ranks of the priesthood, 
and brought forward a number of persons from low ranks, 
who may be expected to be among the most bigotted and 
prejudiced of the fraternity. For about twenty pounds a 
year, in many cases for much less, a student may go through 
the college course, and be boarded and lodged gratis. The 
discipline is said to be good, and the professed course of 
study not to be objected to ; but the question is, whether 
the students are not admitted too early and dismissed too 
soon;—whether Maynootli, being their all of improvement, 
these farmers’ and small landholders’ sons have not, by far, 


DROGHEDA. 


263 


too scanty a measure of liberal instruction to influence 
them during the course of after-years of professional 
country labour. What is said, and what has never been 
contradicted of their occasional coarseness, low feeling, and 
violence, confirms one in the fear that sufScient pains are 
not taken to teach those who are to be the teachers of a 
fierce and headstrong people. 

To those who have never visited a Catholic seminary, 
Maynootli must be interesting. The monk-like dormitories; 
each cell furnished with its table, chair, bedstead, mattress, 
and crucifix; the regular pauses for prayer and private 
meditation, restricted diet on meagre days; the early sum¬ 
mons to mass, and, lastly, at ten o’clock, the visitation of the 
inspector, who, looking in upon every cell, utters his Bene - 
dicamus Domine, understood as the signal for retiring to 
rest. So begins and ends each day for the Catholic student; 
but he is allowed two months, of absence in every year, 
and these he generally spends with his country friends,— 
nor does he always return, for many a young man finds he 
has mistaken his vocation, and renounces it before his no¬ 
vitiate is completed. 

It was Mr. Mowbray’s plan, after spending a few more 
days in Dublin, to devote a little time to the notliern and 
western counties of the province of Leinster; and in pur¬ 
suance of this idea, he set out with a Drogheda gentleman 
who had come up to town on business, proposing to halt a 
day or two in that town, and give himself time to visit 
some of the memorable scenery of the Boyne river. The 
road by which they travelled was that nearest the sea, 
which took them through good part of the county of Dub¬ 
lin, after leaving which they entered that of East Meath. 
Drogheda itself is situated on the Boyne, and is partly 
in East Meath, partly in Louth county. Mr. Mowbray 
looked with interest on a place which, through history, 


264 


LEINSTER. 


was familiar to him as one of the scenes of Oliver Crom¬ 
well’s prowess and perseverance, and also of his unfeeling 
severity. Owen O’Neil, one of the most remarkable men 
Ireland has produced, had long maintained a sturdy con¬ 
test with the English government. He was himself the 
descendant of a long line of princes of native Irish blood, 
who, until the reign of Queen Elizabeth, exercised a sove¬ 
reign power in their own estates. They and all the native 
Irish continued up to that time to be governed by their 
own ancient laws and institutions. They acknowledged 
the king of England as their king ; but the English laws 
and form of government were only in use in that small 
district called “ the Pale,” which included the city of Dub¬ 
lin, and portions of the adjacent counties. 

A number of English families had at a very early period 
settled in Ireland, and, having become now naturalized, 
were Irish in all but descent, and shared the sufferings of 
the natives. The struggle between the Irish people and 
the crown, in fact, began in the time of Edward the Sixth. 
Henry the Eighth, when he brought in his schemes of re¬ 
formation into England, wished to extend them to Ire¬ 
land ; and he was so far successful by means of concilia¬ 
tion and flattery to the most powerful of the chiefs, that 
they willingly adopted the king’s measures; and some 
even of the Romish bishops accepted the reformed reli¬ 
gion. But unfortunately Edward the Sixth adopted a 
harsher mode of treatment. Two of the chief families in 
Ireland having been engaged in a feud, their heads came 
over to England to prefer their complaint to the king, 
being farther encouraged to do so by his Lord Deputy 
Bellingham; but, instead of being kindly received, they 
were imprisoned, and their lands divided among English¬ 
men. This unhappy transaction became the model of 
many others; from this time it may be said that Irish 


DROGHEDA. 


265 


dissensions were the meat and drink of needy Englishmen. 
It is but too certain that the colonists in this unhappy 
country laboured to foment divisions among the inhabi¬ 
tants, that they might divide the spoils. Governed by 
the same rapacious spirit, they also too often made use 
of the sacred name of religion as a plea for oppression and 
confiscation. Little by little the English obtained lands 
and authority in the sister kingdom; but much more rapid 
was their progress in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. The 
vigorous attempts of that queen to impose the Protestant 
religion on her Irish subjects, particularly an act obliging 
people of all persuasions to attend the service of the 
Church of England under severe penalties, alienated num¬ 
bers ; and the powerful Irish chieftains, who saw the pre¬ 
dicament in which they stood, gathered up their strength, 
and kept watch for every opportunity of resisting the en¬ 
croachments of their governors, till about the middle of 
the reign of Elizabeth, when they broke out into a rebel¬ 
lion which it cost a vast amount of blood and treasure to 
quell. At length, however, the Irish were subdued, and 
the flying chieftains left their paternal lands to the mercy 
of the conquerors, who divided or sold many of them 
amonor the English and Scotch. From this time the whole 
island was brought under the dominion of British laws, 
and the Irish lords who were inclined to a peaceable 
settlement were invited to surrender their chiefries, and 
take grants for their lands by patents from the crown. 
But it was in the provinces lately occupied by the insur¬ 
gent chiefs that the materials for future strife were accu¬ 
mulating. The province of Ulster belonged in great part 
to two of these refugees, O’Neil and O’Dcnnel; and 
500,000 acres of land were, by their flight, placed at the 
disposal of the crown. King James the First, finding 
himself thus endowed, eagerly seized the opportunity of 


266 


LEINSTER. 


making a Protestant plantation in Ulster, and accordingly 
contracted with the city of London for the sale and be- 
stowment of these lands, endeavouring, as far as possible, 
to exclude the original Irish tenants. In order to accom¬ 
plish this end, innumerable tenants of the forfeited lands 
were forcibly driven from their occupations. A large 
proportion of these farmers were totally innocent of the 
offences of their chiefs ; and the cruelty with which they 
were forced from their dwellings, and driven up into the 
mountains at the point of the pike, though it does not 
excuse their bloody revenge, renders their motive more 
natural and comprehensible. In the winter of 1641 their 
terrible rage had vent. They poured from their moun¬ 
tain holds, swept the new plantations from the face of the 
land, and obtained their lands again. The slaughter was 
great on both sides: it was begun under the command of 
Sir Phelim O’Neil; but he was soon superseded by Owen 
O’Neil, who repressed to the utmost of his power the vio¬ 
lence of his followers; but no genius nor humanity can 
prevent the disastrous calamities of a civil war once en¬ 
tered into. Many excellent men on the English side were 
either compelled to leave a land they were labouring to 
civilize and improve, or died martyrs to the spirit of 
rapacity and dissension. Among the first were Arch¬ 
bishop Usher and Robert Boyle: among the last the ex¬ 
cellent Bishop Bedell. 

The disorders were of longer continuance because of 
the unsettled state of England at this period. Charles 
the First was busied in his parliamentary wars, and 
both parties alternately appealed to the Irish, who alter¬ 
nately favoured one or other ; but the Parliament having 
achieved the victory in England, Cromwell was sent over 
to finish the work in Ireland. Never was an enemy’s 
land dealt with more summarily. His first march was 


BATTLE OF THE BOYNE. 


267 


upon Drogheda, a place of considerable strength and im¬ 
portance, which had been taken with considerable diffi¬ 
culty by the rebels. Hugh O’Neil had garrisoned it with 
care; and its governor, Sir Arthur Acton, a Catholic, was 
a man of undaunted courage and great judgment. The 
siege was sustained with great vigour, and Cromwell 
spared no pains to make himself master of the place. The 
garrison meantime fought for their lives, and held out till 
all except a remnant were destroyed : these submitted 
upon terms. But Cromwell, exasperated at their long 
defence, ordered them all to be put to the sword, except 
about thirty, who were sent to Barbadoes, and there sold 
as slaves, a bite worse than death, and one which Crom¬ 
well seemed to have a particular taste for bestowing on his 
captives. He then proceeded to Wexford, the garrison of 
which place shared the same cruel fate. 

Mr. Mowbray, having visited the chief objects of interest 
in Drogheda itself, was next disposed to see the field of 
the celebrated battle of the Boyne. About two miles from 
the town, on an eminence, is an obelisk commemorating 
King William’s victory of the 1st of July, 1690. From 
this hill the eye took in the whole scene of combat; it 
was difficult to conceive the cultivated tract of country 
which now met the eye, torn up by hostile armies; and to 
imagine to oneself the bright waters of the Boyne, now 
sparkling in the sun, dyed with human blood. Here was 
fought the battle for supremacy between the Stuarts and 
the nation ; and every Englishman and Protestant, what¬ 
ever pity he may feel for the fate of the Irish, must re¬ 
joice in the defeat of James the Second. Nothing was 
ever more unfortunate for the Irish than their temporary 
alliance with the ill-judging, tyrannical Stuarts: a simi¬ 
larity of religious opinion alone formed the bond of their 
connexion; but they ought to have known better than to 


268 


LEINSTER. 


place any reliance on those who from first to last had 
proved themselves the foes to civil liberty. 

Our traveller’s next stage was to Navan. This is a 
market and post-town of East Meath; and it is very 
pleasantly situated at the junction of the Boyne and the 
Blackwater. At this place Mr. Mowbray was joined by 
his servant Brady, whom he had left in Dublin for the 
day or two of his stay at Drogheda. To his surprise 
Brady did not come alone, or by the coach ; he was driven 
into the inn-yard on a car by a sagacious-looking country¬ 
man, whom he introduced to Mr. Mowbray as a bit of a 
cousin, living near Tarah, within a few miles of Navan. 
He was coming to Navan-mavket, and had offered Brady 
the benefit of a free conveyance : “ and for the matter of 
that,” said Brady, “it would have done your Honour 
good to have seen the ould, ould place up the hill where 
Bill Ilogan lives. It is worth more than all the Protestant 
mills and spinning-machines in the world !” 

“Oh, you mean the old palace at Tarah!” said Mr. 
Mowbray, “but the best authorities say there never was 
a palace there at all!” 

“Don’t believe ’em yer Honour, pray don’t! Sure ’tis 
written down almost like Gospel that all the ould Irish 
princes, bless their race, used to be crowned on the hill 
at Tarah ; and is it likely now they wouldn’t raise a cover¬ 
ing for their blessed heads ?” 

“Well, Brady, I cannot deny what you say about the 
princes ; and I. believe the states used to meet there every 
three years: so it is possible after all that they had a 
palace or something of the kind.” 

“ Certainly, Sir! and Mr. INIoore, you know, Sir, has 
written a song about ‘The Harp that once in Tara’s 
Halls !’ ” 

“So now let us go and see about Navan,” said Mr. 


NAVAN. 


2G9 


Mowbray, “ and I must not forget Ardbraccon : can any 
one show me the way ?” Plenty of guides offered them¬ 
selves, and one was selected who readily undertook to 
walk to the above-named village of Ardbraccon, about two 
miles distant, where is the episcopal palace, built from J. 
Wyatt’s designs. In the burial-ground of the church are 
two tombs of great interest, one to the memory of Bishop 
Pocock, the traveller; the other to Bishop Montgomery. 
Another object of interest to Mr. Mowbray was also 
visited this morning, a round tower seventy feet high, 
remarkable for a cross engraved on the kevstone of the 
doorway. This rises about a mile from Navan, near the 
road leading to Slieve. The next stage was Kells, on the 
Blackwater; this town abounds with ecclesiastical anti¬ 
quities, the remains of an abbey founded by St. Columb, 
and a market-cross, on which are Irish characters and 
curious sculptures. Kells is an ancient bishopric, now 
incorporated with the see of Meath. There are some fine 
woods and grounds in the neighbourhood, particularly 
those of the Marquis of Headford ; and the poor seemed 
to be employed, though at a low rate; but the beggars 
from Connaught, and from parts of Longford were nume¬ 
rous. These creatures are heavily accused by the resi¬ 
dents. They certainly substract much from the means of 
support of their own inhabiting poor, and take more than 
their share of the farmer’s potatoes. In fact, Mr. Mow¬ 
bray was credibly informed that a small shopkeeper in the 
neighbourhood had purchased of one of these confirmed 
beggars as much as three-hundred stone of potatoes,* the 
result of his begging; yet such is the habit of giving, that 
no one seems to dream of refusal. 

From Kells they went to Castle Pollard, near which is the 


* Report, p. 345. 


270 


LEINSTER. 


seat of Lord Longford, called Pakenham Hall, a noble and 
interesting place. This is in the county of West Meath, 
part of which county is beautifully ornamented with lakes 
and woods. In general, however, the centre of Ireland is 
boggy and flat, and less interesting than the parts nearer 
the coast; and Mr. Mowbray felt the less regret, since his 
time did not admit of his travelling far to the west, that 
he could not reach Longford county, though the name of 
Edgeworth proved a powerful attraction in that direction. 
But he began, and he did not conceal it from his faithful 
servant, to be tired of much that he met with while travel¬ 
ling in Ireland. The beggars distressed him, and yet more 
was he annoyed by two or three unhappy disturbances 
to which he was a witness, excited by the process of serv¬ 
ing tithe notices on the small landed proprietors and 
farmers. One or two such sickening spectacles were 
enough for a quiet, humane man who, like Mr. Mowbray, 
had little enterprise, and being somewhat of an invalid, 
wished to journey on as peaceably as possible. Letters 
forwarded from Dublin, besides, urged his return to Eng¬ 
land, and he determined not to prolong for the present 
liis travels in a country which, with all its objects of plea¬ 
surable interest, cannot be traversed without much of pain. 
Castle Pollard, therefore, he determined to make his most 
westerly point, and setting his face homewards, passing 
through Trim, the county town of West Meath, a short 
day’s journey brought him back to Dublin. A few days 
more were devoted to friendly calls and visits among his 
friends. In the course of this time, he succeeded in per¬ 
suading Brady, though with much difficulty, to exchange 
his service for one in Dublin, and though sorry to part 
with so affectionate a servant, w r as satisfied that the poor 
man would be happier among his own people. He would 
not, however, leave his master until the very last moment, 


“ ERIN GO BRAGH !” 271 

accompanying him to the steamer at Kingstown, and 
standing on the pier to watch the last moments of the 
rapidly retiring vessel. “ To he sure,” said he to himself, 
as he turned away at length, and retraced his footsteps to 
Dublin, “ it’s no wonder the English like their own land, 
seeing my heart’s rising now to go back to it. But it 
would be unnatural entirely if an Irishman horn were to 
desert the country that gave him birth, while he has 
meat and drink, and hands to keep him from a beggar’s 
life. God bless the land, and all belonging to it! Erin 
ma vourneen ! Erin go bragh !” 


THE END. 


Joseph Rickerby, Printer, Sherboum Lane. 



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